Forgive me dear reader, for all too easily jumping on the bandwagon known as uninspired and inane conversation, but this arctic weather that is holding Britain in its icy, vice-like grip, is quite simply getting too much now.
I’m sat in my flat typing this with my hat on my head, cursing the limited heating options that this flat, and my current bank balance, offers.
The flat’s two ‘storage’ heaters store nothing except for the copious quantities of dust that this flat seems to accumulate (which I must add, is remarkable) and the soap on the windowsill above my kitchen sink has actually now frozen into some form of scented jelly creation.
The two wall-mounted electric heaters can generally kick out a degree of warmth when coaxed, however the effect their usage has on the electricity bill, and consequentially my beer fund, is enough to persuade me to don extra socks and a thicker jumper before depleting my limited bank balance further still.
It amuses me that in six months, when Britain is no doubt experiencing a three-day heat-wave, I shall almost look back to this cold snap with nostalgically-tinted glasses on. Until then however, I shall remain quintessentially British and continue to practice the national habit of complaining about the weather every single day – it’s cold.
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