It’s finally snowed here in Bolton, quite a lot too. There’s about four inches of the stuff settled out there and the tarmac is no longer visible on the road. It’ll all be gone by the end of tomorrow once the rain comes to wash it away, but nonetheless, it’s been a pretty sight.

Tonight I discovered that, while their grip is amazing, Crocs are totally inadequate in the snow. Full of holes, you see. I also discovered, or confirmed to myself, that I need to learn a language. Parce que le weekend (here we go), I tend to try to use my best Franglais on Fridays. Je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais c’est le weekend, n’est pas??

Anyway, even my Franglais is tainted by Italian, as my French had been when I was studying the language properly at school all those years ago. French is such a doddle, but I was always pulled up for saying un po (Italian) instead of un (on) peu (French) and getting days of the week mixed up. Of course, since it was us who won the war, all of Europe should really be speaking English as a first language, but those bloody Frenchies are so obstinate with their “Non, non, non, non, non!!!!” to everything. Saying that though, their “Non, non, non, non, non!!!!” attitude has helped them preserve an identity that we should envy. Maybe they realised they had something worth preserving.

But that’s my view on Europe: they have better food than us, better weather, and they don’t take shit from Brussels. Maybe if Britain didn’t take shit from Brussels, we’d be happier with our relationship with all those stupid sodding countries that never vote for us in Eurovision.

Samedi
Tomorrow, I need to practise peeing into a jug in readiness for collecting all of my wee on Sunday. What a drag, but it’s for my own good.

I won’t be doing much else tomorrow apart from clearing snow and doing housework. The latter activity is needed desperately: on Christmas Day as we say at the table to eat dinner, I noticed a cobweb hanging from the dining room ceiling right above the table. Father Christmas might as well have forced his way into the house and pood on the table, the embarrassment it caused me. So I shall be out with my feather duster, no doubt cursing lots.

For now though, I need to sleep in order to allow my dear old liver and kidneys a better chance of clearing the bottle of wine I had tonight.

Bon nuit, mes amies. Or whatever.