snow angel

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The BBC for London says Monday “heavy snow.” It is ICY cold outside. I’ve been laid up all weekend with hormonal girly afflictions so severe that I thought I was going to be sick while I wept yesterday, and tomorrow must be teleported to my new secret employment somewhere over London, snow or no snow, and basically I am still surviving on Nurofen. Last time that happened – the snow I mean not being laid up, that is depressingly usual – I got, if you recall, a blog post out of my ordeal trying to get to Victoria, which I illustrated with a photograph of Nanook of the North trying to claw his way into a frozen-over igloo. It represented me trying to get into Seven Sisters station.

On the other hand, I love the snow. And although I missed a party I really wanted to go to last night, I was very snug where I was – which was on the couch, watchinga DVD of Jean Vigo’s 1934 film L’Atalante. It is my new favourite film. I thought I might have seen it before, when I was a kid, because I’m sure I remember the baroque Maman going on about it, but no, I hadn’t. It turns out to be one of those things it’s just embarrassing not to have seen. Several movies I love are now recast in its light, including (majorly) Patrice Leconte’s The Girl on the Bridge and even the wedding sequence in last year’s You, the Living, by Roy Andersson. To say nothing of the works of Truffaut.

I want to say more about this movie when I’m less tired; let’s see when we get the time…

Meanwhile, here is what Mlle B did on her way home.

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