Last night the corniest of Christmas cards through the window where the newly fallen snow on hedge and rooftops had a sort of golden glow imparted by the street lamps. This morning, in the bright sun, there is still a Christmas card view, but less kitch.
At lunch time the snow on the branches of the big oak on the corner of the Grove was already beginning to thaw. Big drops of water, illuminated by the sun, are falling with wide spaces in between.
I read, in The Spectator agony column, of a labrador, which swallowed the remote control of somebody's new digibox.
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