The pale winter of discontent arrived as we slept. The yellow warnings were real, but up to a point only. That point was an icy mixture of frosted surfaces and fake snow that failed to deal any serious blow to movements and fixtures. In any other time it would be classed as a normal December day. The first snow of the year and now it's downhill all the way into a season of peculiar customs, a mish-mash of ideology and tinsel coated forced sentimentality which we are all expected to enjoy. I'll get over this eventually.
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