The Campaign For Real Winter

I'm not in a bad mood, it's just that I absolutely fucking hate this time of year, as the season of enforced fun is upon us once more and the streets are packed with arseholes. Plus it's not cold enough. Did the Earth tilt on its axis at some point over the past year? Maybe it's just me, or my hyperactive metabolism, or the fact that my nerve endings don't seem to respond to temperature like other people* (at least three people will point out to me at some point in January that I've got the windows open and my sleeves rolled up even though there's icicles hanging from the taps in the bathroom), but it's too warm at the moment. I demand real fucking winter to go with my Black Metal, Red Wine and Blue Vodka**. It's too fucking warm for December. I love bitter winter mornings when every footstep crunches with the shattering of billions of tiny ice crystals, the cold white light and blazing low sun making it appear as though everything has it's own sharp black outline against the sky, somehow emphasising the spaces between as much has the shapes themselves. It's beautiful.

*Or maybe I just have a fetish for icy cold things. I should probably stop this line of thought right now.

**Smirnoff Norsk, it looks like bleach, but it tastes a damn sight better.