Winter finally arrived. It came whimpering in the back door, deposited a few flakes of short-lived snow, then blew out the window: taking the snow with it as it went. The mercury fell, but only to 5 degrees. The little snow that did linger was soon turned to slush before it formed puddles or evaporated in the afternoon sun. He heard on the news, between coverage of the international incident being caused by three vacuous, obnoxious and semi-literate bullies in the Celebrity [sic] Big Brother house, that storms swept across many parts of the country, killing several people and causing hundreds of millions of pounds worth of damage to property. Storms down south and mild sunshine on this side of the border. One can only conclude that winter is feart of Scotland: and so it should be. What he really wanted was not snow: he longed for warm sunshine. He wanted to lie on a beach and get a tan. He craved the sun's warmth and an end to the gales and the rain and the snow and BBC weather warnings.