(no subject)

I've never known anything like the bleedin' fog that's draped itself over the North today. It's the thickest, most persistent shroud of annoyingness I've ever encountered. Work for me is in an area of low-lying natural moorland that has been swallowed up by the spread of the city. However, my department is on the eight floor of the hospital and so looking out at the panorama spread below means that one can see a lot of the old moorland. Today, it was almost entirely swallowed up by fog, and it looked so gothic and eerie and silent that several of us kept going to the large office windows to stare. I had a vision of zombies staggering from the mist, arms outstretched to eat the patients who seem unaware that we are a NO. SMOKING. HOSPITAL outside A&E, but alas. They did not materialise. I felt it best not to mention my utopian zombie vision to my colleagues. They wouldn't understand, the low-minded smoker-life-sparing fools.

At one point, the silence was broken by a male colleague 'phoning his friend and moaning loudly that he "felt like we were at the top of Mount f*cking Everest." I suppose you could compare the fog to that, too.

Anyways, Britain itself is currently languishing in all that icy weather malarky, and I'm finding myself quite liking it this time around. The dark nights seriously hamper me to the effect that if I don't take care to get as much sunlight as possible, or to go on those accursed sunbeds every week or so, my mood swings low. But no matter! Snow is forecast over the next week, and I've earmarked some of this month's salary for funky new gloves, another scarf and maybe even a warm coat if it takes my fancy. And maybe some nice cocoa for clichéd fireside pampering. The thing about winter is that indulgence is a given; you've got to give it that, if nothing else.