May 23

Winter is here, a leaden sky lying over the world like a dead weight, a heavy, inert cold that reminds me of Europe in November. It's depressing and I'm finding it difficult to move my seasonally affected arse beyond the confines of the marital Ikea quilt: shades, once again, of Polish winter. I remember arriving in Warsaw at the end of January last year and Marcin meeting me at the airport- the first thing he did was reach out, finger my coat and say, "Roza, it's not warm enough." I felt my self respect take a jolt- what could I, a frivolous puff of hot air drifting up from the thirty fifth latitude (south), possibly know about the deadly serious business of keeping myself warm? This morning I contemplated my clothes rack in the annual Mauy reckoning and realised I still have nothing remotely suitable for warding off this sort of grey seeping chill.

So those of us with attractive and appropriate winter wardrobes may find comfort in finally having an opportunity to parade in their knee length boots and tweed: as for me, I am seeking solace in soup and sleep. (also alliterative sentences by the looks of things). Off to complete my reading of the weekend paper which I have been too sluggish to manage until now.