Snowflake Oblivion II

The most amazing thing about this snow storm is that it happens in complete silence. Its 1am and I cradle at the edge of the balcony, watching these featherlike flakes drifting from above. I know rain and I know hail – nasty heavy noisy stuff. Not snow. I don’t know snow at all. And for once, in the middle of the city, there’s no traffic noises or the sound of broken bottles being cleaned out from the pub around the corner. Just silent snow. The fleeting shadows of the falling flakes silhouetted in the glass of my lounge room window cast on by amber coloured street light.

..................................................

I felt like I was three again. Screaming in delight as I woke up to yet more coats of snow all over the estate gardens, covering the streets, building up the front door of our main entrance and settled on the top of lamp poles and tree branches… kids all over the premise making snowmen or playing snowball fights, taking advantage of cancelled classes.

Other commuters as bewildered as I was wandered carefully through the knee-deep fine ice, avoiding various puddles of brown sludge in the gutter as they crossed the road. There’s no buses and most of the tube lines are down, and there aren’t enough people keen to take on the streets. Its so empty, and white.

It took me over an hour on an ordinarily 40 minute walk to get to work, mostly because I was having too much fun taking photos!

..................................................

I ate a mouthful of snow. It was fluffy and cold, that’s about it. I still felt like I was three.

..................................................

The 17th century marble building was like a haunted castle. The painted images of the founders of our revered organisation peer out from their designated frames, watching the place on behalf of the senior managers who couldn’t get to work today, because they all lived in big country villas far away from the rest of us, and their 1.5 hour daily commutes were impossible with the South England-wide public transport shut-downs. Only about 30% of people made it to the office, and it was quite apparent after a ‘survivor’s meeting’ at 10:00 that it would remain this way for another day if not the rest of the week.

I danced around the empty corridors and made faces into empty office spaces – its like having the house to yourself when your parents had gone on holidays. I run the show now! I run the show now!

Outside my window the snow continued to fall. Some LSE students rolled pass a gigantic snow ball, completely outdoing me in outrageousness.

..................................................

TV’s broken. My flatmates and I were so totally drunk on mulled wine. Its only 4.30 in the afternoon, but what else would we do?

..................................................

The current Squeeze comes in the form of an Italian chef from Milan, a 25 year old version of Al Pacino, but more grunge. His excitable yet suave personality reminds me of Merlin the Mighty Tiger. He won’t eat any of my food unless its ‘authentically East Asian’ or unless he’s hung over. Its both an insolent challenge and a blessing in disguise.

“You know, Bambina,”
“…yeah?”
“I can call you Bambina, no?”
“Yeah that’s fine, that’s really nice.”
“You know what they say about my carbonara?”
“…no?”
“They say, it taste like snow.”

…don’t let me stop you.

..................................................