The cold has a name, and it's Hanna.

First of all, a little rant: I'm not a big fan of telecommunication. It's nice when it works, but not much nicer than when you don't even try to do it. However, if you do try, and it doesn't work, it drives you mad. At least me. It depresses me to no end. This is why I am out of principle reluctant to call anybody, or even text them. Although, of course, this reluctance must frequently be overcome for the sake of social success. So I don't really know.

Ha.



The weather is trying to prove a point, though I am not sure what this point is. Possibly it wants to prove that it can totally compete with Edinburgh in terms of dampness and chilliness. Possibly it wants to make sure, once and for all, that everybody knows that this is the end of summer 2008. Possibly it's just a grumpy fucker.
I'm not really that pleased with it. I mean I am definitely a fan of autumn, but when I say that, I think of golden light and fallen leaves and walks through the park and chestnuts, always, always chestnuts. Building animals out of toothpicks and chestnuts.
I don't think of cold and wet feet, wind, and being caught entirely unprepared by a temperature drop of some 20°C. In short, I'd like a classic, middle European autumn, instead of an Icelandic summer, kthxbye.

By the way, at the moment, I look a bit like this.



In my work clothes, which, in terms of colours and number of layers, are already adapted to the weather. With a sceptical and possibly even fearful look out of the window, wondering what devastatingness may be lurking out there in the form of earthbound water and adverse northerly winds.