Its February. And its snowing a motherload. In Dublin. The wee hours of Monday morning it started, while I was walking home from a night out. After copious amounts of vodka, much fun was had. Snow fights, clambering on bridges, scrawling messages on every car and frozen fingers ensued. All good and fun.
Its now Tuesday night, and the novelty has completely worn off. If it stuck, that would be fine. Delightful, even. But instead it just melts - so my feet are soaked and my jeans are soaking up every puddle I have to wade through. Either that, or it ices up the pavement, people are hobbling about Stephen's Green like they've had a really rough weekend.
Fuck off, snow. I've got my pretty pictures, I'm done with you now. G'wan away out of it.
Is this a sign I'm grown up?
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