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Near Narnia

Our back garden is long for London - about sixty feet I think - and comprises of a backyard filled with grass and brambles, edged by trees, one old apple, one ferociously encroaching hawthorn and others I can't identify. The garden looks shorter because the trees all huddle together at the end, but if you push through them, there is in fact, a tiny and magical grove. In Spring it is a bluebell hotel. Right now, it is a wild white wood under eight inches of snow, while the flakes continue to fall. All we need now is a lamp-post among the trees and we shall know exactly where we are, with dwarves and fauns, and the occasional brown bird fluffed up indignantly against the inclement prettiness. On our washing line, three t-shirts belonging to my brother hang, stiff, frozen and presumably clean at last.

Needless to say, in a country notorious for its changeable seasons, our transport network can handle anything except cold, heat, rain, wind, leaves, sunshine, fog, cows on the line, and snow, so god knows how I shall get into work for the night show. I shall think about it later.

Friends are lovely. We spent a fantastic saturday evening with velvet_the_cat and Dan sans Lj, where great conversation was accompanied by ever amazing hospitality; I came home to BPAL imps courtesy of the lovely ravenrigan for those who are interested in rather different smellies, check out this website: http://www.blackphoenixalchemylab.com/

Meantime, the snow falls even yet, and larians makes mischievous noises about creating snowmen. I'm staying indoors, having lost both my sets of gloves. This is one kitten who won't step out without her mittens, pie or no pie.

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