Snowpocalypse

I am meant to be at the NaNoWriMo TGIO party.

‘What does TGIO stand for,’ I hear the less acronym-savvy readers cry. ‘Thank God It’s Over’ would be my response; where ‘it’ refers to the mad dash to write fifty thousand words in one month, ‘god’ is the child-friendly substitute for a sweary word, and ‘over’ means that I will eventually back-date the last chapter but I haven’t actually finished it yet.

Unfortunately I am not at said party, due to a close encounter with a snowdrift in Dalkeith that rendered my only dry jeans unusable. The others have just been washed and are thusly out of service, and there is nary a tumble drier to be had in this building. I am not braving snowpocalypse in a skirt – that would be a fool’s errand.

Instead I will sit in the flat in my pyjamas, eating my weight in cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches and knitting quietly to myself. This, my friends, is the lot of one of life’s winners. Mark it well.