Sunday, January 24

The snow has not gone, although the temperature has risen. Some of it has turned to slush and more of it has fallen. I go for a walk after breakfast, wearing mys studded boots, and regret it within a couple of hundred metres.

I walk down to the end of Riskutie and along the long path. The slush comes over my boots and makes the whole business akin to walking through half-set jelly. I capture some of the fun as a woman wearing the only colour anywhere in sight walks slowly enough for me to overtake her.

My legs will complain all the way home.

In the afternoon a weak sun will cast a few pallid shadows and melt the snow on the terrace. As night falls a fresh flurry of snow will put it all back again.