Well, in usual style, London, the city that has withstood invasions by the French, the Viking and the dinosaurs, and which made it through the Blitz calmly and with great aplomb (so the History Channel leads us to believe) is threatened by the prospect of fluffy white things falling from the sky. Travel alerts! Possible cancellations! Snow emergency! Be afraid! Maybe the dinosaurs should have won.
Anyway, I don't actually have much to say at the moment (unusual, I know). I managed to peel my butt out of bed at the ungodly hour of 650 (I'm pretty sure that should be illegal when the sun doesn't rise until 8) and headed off for my morning bike ride. Generally a good ride, except for the dickhead in the Mercedes (I'm reminded of a joke about Mercedes and porcupines...) anyway, this prick comes up behind me on a road with miles and miles to pass, and honks. Naturally, I ignore him, so he honks again. Ignore. Finally he rushes around me in a big blast of Mercedes engine noise, and gets stuck at the next traffic light. So, I come up alongside him and manage to launch a nice big glob of spit on his window and door. Given my usual ability to aim spit is fairly abyssmal, I was pretty proud of my result, and was very pleased (I checked this first) that there was a whole lot of traffic ahead, meaning there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he'd catch up to me again. Yet another small triumph for cyclists worldwide, or something like that.
Anyway, I should probably look useful, and I have to go off to a meeting in a bit anyway. Yucky.