There has been white stuff falling from the sky. I know what it is, having lived in Moscow for 2+6 years, but around these parts it's rarer than rocking-horse s**t. I went gleefully to the loft to search for the cross-country skis that I bought in Moscow from the sports beryozka some 40 years ago. Who remembers beryozki (берёзки)? Special shops scattered around Moscow exclusively for foreigners (and their hard currency). I found the skis and poles and boots underneath a pile of other stuff - the loft is full of things we haven't seen for 25 years. But then - deep disappointment. The boots had been in the loft so long that the rubber has perished so they no longer clip into the studs on the skis. It is not possible to use those ancient skis without clipping ancient boots into them. I was so looking forward to a quick langlauf session around my estate. Reluctantly I had to abandon the idea and settle for a walk instead.
Donated my 62nd pint of blood in Cambridge on Monday. With 8 pints circulating in the human body, I've almost rejuvenated myself 8 times.
For a video clip I've chosen, for my younger readers, Frosty the Snowman.