The whole world has been iced, like a lovely little frosted cake. The trees and hedges are all outlined in white and any words spoken outside are crystalised in a chilly haze. It's lovely and pretty and, when I walked to the bus stop, the light of the lamposts caught what looked like little icy shards in the orange glow.
When I got to town, the church bells were ringing and it rung around the buildings as I raced to catch my train. People from pubs called and wolf whistled as I walked swiftly past but I ignored them, caught too much up in my childish wondering at the sight of the chilly evening. I made the train with a minute to spare and Alistair and I are about to catch a bus with a box of 25 fireworks and three bottles of alcohol. We can't hide the fireworks sufficiently enough with a bag so we're going to wrap them up like a belated christmas present.
Happy new year.
