Saturday 21st February. Bletchingley, England.

I broke a promise to myself yesterday. When I came from the States to London in December, I vowed I wouldn't complain about the weather. Bad enough listening to the poms' endless whingeing, without me joining in the chorus. You can't arrive in England in the depths of winter and expect sunbathing weather. Well, you can. You can expect Kylie Minogue to run out of petrol just outside your house in the middle of the night, and come knocking on your door. You can expect anything you want, but it's unlikely to happen. So I've kept my promise- while all others around me moan and whine about the weather, I've used adjectives such as 'brisk' and 'invigorating'. But the last couple of days have ust been too much. I have no idea what temperatures we've been experiencing. It's probably been nothing overly impressive, as they'd be having in Minnesota at the moment, but the icy wind we've been getting over the last few days has been straight from the Arctic. You can even smell the faint scent of polar bear and penguin in the wind, if you have a keen sense of smell. It's the sort of weather that just drains your motivation. All I want to do is curl up in my sleeping bag and wait for Kylie to come knocking. I should be so lucky...lucky, lucky, lucky.

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