Yesterday I woke up and opened my curtains before I put my glasses on, so the view was blurry, but more importantly: it was generally the wrong colour... it was too pale. Last time I got this eerie sensation, of the world being the wrong colour, we'd had a dust storm in Sydney. The light that fell into the window that morning was too pink.
Well, a dust storm is just not entirely possible here, so I fumbled around in what passes for a night stand in my new life here, shoved my specs onto my face and rushed back to the window:
Everyone in town was dead shocked. "It's too early for this!" they said. "Manchester doesn't even usually get snow," they said. Hushed tones mumbled horror stories of last year's winter, three weeks of cold, gray rain and snow and ice. That was, apparently, one of the worst winters MCR's had in a long while. I'm not worried yet, though. The city had a charm to it, under this dust of white powder, and there were whimsical flurries all day. And anyway, the day warmed up, the snow mostly melted away.
This morning, my window was even paler, and when I walked outside, there was more snow!
Even London got snow, and they're well-confused by it! They're promising an even colder winter this year, so I guess if I still love Manchester by April, then you'll know that this city is definitely worth something.
Speaking of dustings, Craig happily got rid of the ginger mousse-tache! Look how handsome!
It's been a long day, and I'm knackered, so that's all the posting I'll manage tonight. More soon!