Cold and grey in February is just plain wrong

The snow has turned to slush and London is once again cold and grey. It's been so cold in my office that I didn't bother putting my lunch yoghurt in the fridge this morning. I just left it in my bag by my filing drawer. Yes, I've tripped over it a dozen times today, but when I popped the tin foil (incidentally, never, NEVER try to peel the tin foil lid off a particularly sticky tub of yoghurt whilst ever so slightly squeezing the plastic tub. Especially if you're off on a date that night. It will not end well for anyone. Well, you, mostly) inside it was a cool as if I'd just pulled it from the fridge. Handy hints for the refrigeratorly challenged

Given that the return of grey also meant the return of rain, I'm trying to keep from getting my perfectly straightened hair wet by staying inside. Anything rather than having to present Nice Boy with my usual less-than-well-groomed self. You know it's bad when you're comparing notes with someone about how bad your hair is (you know you do it...) and comment that yours is a mess because all you've done to it that day was comb it when it was damp then aim the hair dryer at it for a bit before tying it back, and the response is 'Do you dry it?' in surprised tones. So I don't think he knows me well enough to be prepared for that just yet. I entertained myself at lunch by going back to Jen Lancaster's blog (www.jennsylvania.com It's sarky, it's nasty, it's comic genius), which was what inspired me in the first place with this whole blogging thing. I keep hoping that I'll have the same luck she did, getting book deals and a lifestyle out of writing. Maybe someday there'll be someone who stumbles across this blog, isn't scared off by either the catty bitching at telephone companies, the lack of any real substance to the posts, or my complete unwillingness to spell check, and will throw a six-figure book deal my way. Hell, with some work on my part I could probably reel out 3-4 in a couple of years.

But no. I'm not silly enough to think it's ever going to happen in the real world. A girl's got to have a dream though. Something to tide her through until 5:30, when she runs for the hills...OK, I'm not running for the hills. I'm dashing for the mirror, to put on a little make up before racing back to north London and a cinema where Nice Boy will hopefully be waiting for me. He just texted to let me know that he didn't get stranded in the fresh snow that fell across Hertfordshire overnight, so we're all set. Cold? Great for snuggling...Grey skies? Huh! Mood lighting. Drizzle, however, I'm less forgiving about!