Four years ago, in January, when I visited Cambridge without any thought of moving here, it was plus twelve, the air was full of the smell of roses, and I could walk around in my light blouse. When we were moving, our friends lamented that we were going to the land of eternal fog and rain, and we teased them about Cambridgeshire's subtropical climate. Then the first winter came, with cold and snow, and we were told that it didn't happen more often than every thirty years, so I was content that we had had our snow for the rest of our lives. The second winter was still colder, and this one is worse. Mind, I am not complaining, looking at weather reports from other places in Europe. Florence under snow! What's going on? Chaos, traffic accidents, airports closed. The coldest winter in England in a hundred years. I've had enough records. Pretty, yes, but I can enjoy snow on a postcard.
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