As all of Britain’s pop stars predicted, there was no snow in Africa this Christmas. But strangely, there wasn't any in the crappy little suburb of Epsom either. While the rest of the nation has been immersed in 15cm of the stuff, we have been completely dry. It’s almost as though the hole in the ozone layer has been focused directly over where I live, just to make sure that December is as miserable as it could be.
I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t so damn cold. For the past 2 weeks, I’ve gone out the door each morning with enough thermals on top to shame an arctic explorer: T-shirt, Shirt, Jumper, Coat, Scarf and Gloves. As a result my torso has been as warm as it needs to be, cozy and up to temperature. However, my legs have been frozen. For the past fourteen days, I’ve been getting regular frostbite each morning. This is why it’s vital that high street chains realize this, and instantly decide to market a range of padded trousers. Not ski trousers with a grey coloring, which have no zip and are specially formulated to never come off, or on, but real trousers with simply thermal lining. I’d pay up to £25 a pair for such things.
Another problem with the cold is the way it keeps me in bed. Spring-Autumn, I can quite happily go to bed at 11 and wake up a 7 each school day. But during the winter I simply can’t function. I’ve tried going to sleep at 9, but that didn’t help either. I wake up, turn off my alarm, sit up, and wake up again 20 minutes later by my father screaming that it’s 7.20 and I’m fucked for the train. Hopefully I will eventually acclimatize, but in the meantime, I really don’t know what I’m going to do.
**UPDATES**
I’m writing this the night before I post it. Fuck knows what’s going to happen in the meantime.
Turns out it is going to snow, quite heavily apparently. While I’m walking to school in the morning. Fml.
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