I swore last year that I’d never do it again, but here I am.
Yet again I have forsworn the chance to do what sensible people all over the city did, which was get home last night by whatever means possible, even if it involved stealing a snowplough and driving it home yourself. Once safe at home they could cheerfully ring in snowbound this morning, then sit in their cosy kitchens hoping that this weather goes on as long as possible.
But I saw no point to attempting the nightmare journey last night, since I knew full well that I would get up and try to get in again this morning. That’s just the kind of moron that I am. So yet again I booked into a crap city-centre hotel for last night and tonight. I am sitting in the office, about to trudge over there, and as a final insult my blog has started mocking me by doing its bloody December snowing again.
I did it early this year when, like now, I was snowed under at work and too fed up to care that that’s a really dreadful joke. It was lonely and boring, and this time promises to be no better. To try and cheer myself up last time I speculated here about the possibility of meeting Lone Woman in the bar and embarking upon a passionate fling, as this is the type of thing that happens if one is in the movies, or 24 hours from Tulsa. Needless to say Lone Woman flinging did not occur.
If you are reading this though LW, your chance has arrived again. Once again I will be sat at the bar in a tiny hotel carrying a copy of the times and answering to the password “the weather’s shite, isn’t it?”. And this time promises to be a lot more exciting. While last time I planned the whole thing and brought a bag with me, this time it was very much a spur of the moment decision, so while I have ventured out and bought socks and underwear I do not have a razor. This means that I look as though I’ve decided, since I didn’t grow a Movember, to grow a Decembeard instead. The fact that I have to put on my hated sock hat and venture out within seconds of leaving the shower each morning means that I’ve a hairstyle like Medusa’s. In short I look like Christopher Lloyd in, well, any of his films really.
Oh, and the fact that I’m trapped miles from my house means that I can’t take any of my meds, so God knows how I’ll behave.
Please do come. I’m quite a catch.