I live on a dead end that borders a park and when I woke and peered through the window the snow had drifted and looked a good few centimeters deep. Decision made, no cycling.
Mr Weenie agreed to take me to the nearest tube and we set off. As soon as we cleared the end of our road I realised my heinous error. There was no snow at all on the Uxbridge Road. Not even ice. I watched a couple of cyclists whizz by as we queued in traffic, it was so unfair.
I waited nearly half an hour for a train and crammed into the carriage. I bit my tongue as a brash blonde played her Michael Jackson loudly through her earphones and took up enough room for two. My only consolation was that her over bleached hair was starting to crisp in the freezing air.
Where are the 40 centimeters? Hmmmm?
I feel particularly cheated because my poor parents are stranded in Paris as their plane home from a new year break was diverted at the last minute when Gatwick was closed. Their luggage is still on the plane so they can't even train it home and it took six hours before they got a hotel. Poor dad, who still suffers from exhaustion after January's health excitement was made to queue for four hours standing up.
With that kind of drama going on I feel like I should see some evidence!