Denis Healey snowman

Is is just me, or does this freshly built snow sculpture look like a pensive Denis Healey?

Not enough snow

Like most people in the south east of England, I woke up to snow today - just not enough of it.
While my first move was to peer out the window, my second was to check National Rail's live online departures board, in the hope of being marooned in Leatherhead. Alas, twas not to be, and off to work I traipsed. But doesn't our pond look beautiful in that blue light?

Where the wild winds blow ....

Having just spent the best part of a week between Edinburgh and Manchester (not literally ...), being windswept in the former and soaked to the skin in the latter, I was almost happy to get home to sleepy old Surrey. Until I spotted the garden fence ... or, rather, the gap where it should have been. Worst (or possibly best) of all, the neighbour's cat and I can now eye each other balefully without having to leave our own space.

I miss living in London

Leatherhead is a pretty town. It's friendly, and the surrounding countryside is beautiful, in a tame, home-counties kind of way. I'm reasonably content here, although I found the move from London hard.

But last night, just by chance, we caught a televised performance of Madness's latest album, The Liberty of Norton Folgate. It's a bit of an ode to London, north London in particular, and the stage set (at the magnificent Hackney Empire) involved a changing backdrop of Camden scenes.

It made me really miss London. Mention of Soho made me miss Bar Italia, and a shot of the French House took me back years. But it made me feel old, melancholy and exhausted. Thanks Suggs, and your nutty boy friends!

But I do get up to the big smoke now and again - I took this photo of St Pancras while waiting for the Simon Community soup van to pick me up last week.

The new Royston Vasey?

I'm working from home today, and ambled down the high street of my sleepy Surrey town at lunchtime. As my local - the fantastic Blue Cafe - was packed to the gills, I took my life in my hands and went to a very popular local eaterie. I say 'popular' yet am at pains to understand why. While the food is adequate and the service is good, there is a certain Royston Vasey-ness to it. The regulars are a little alarming. The first time I ventured in there, I had to defend myself against allegations of sitting too long alone at a table (from a patron, not the staff, I hasten to add), despite the place being half empty. This time it came back to me - in a sort of slow motion deja vu moment - that one of my reasons for avoiding it is that the main waitress (a friendly and efficient woman, obviously much loved by less grumpy customers) has got, quite conceivably, the loudest voice outside the Royal Opera House. There I was, working my way through the sudoku in the Times, my ears all but bleeding. So it was off to the Blue Cafe for a restorative latte. These quiet country towns can be hard going ...