Consultations, debates, referenda, plebiscites and digital riots are taking place as to whether tomorrow’s planned Lincoln Drift by the Writing MAs is going to take place, given the presence of SNOW.
At the moment the temperature’s higher than yesterday (no wind chill factor) and there isn’t much of the damned stuff lying about – certainly not in town, anyway.
In the meantime, here’s a light piece of my prose you may care to read over The Fortnightly Review:
OUT OF MY window at the moment I can see a hesitancy of snowflakes in the garden. They look and move more like small white moths than snowflakes, rising and falling in the breeze. There aren’t many of them, thank heaven. It’s March already and still the winter, like a less-than-ideal guest (Cyril Connolly, for instance), can’t bring itself to leave…