...and then I'd just fallen asleep when the sixteen year old clumped into the bedroom and woke me up.
'Can I show you something?' she asked.
'Sure...' I replied blearily trying to give the impression of a mother who has been up all night worrying instead of comatose, couldn't care less, thought she was in bed hours ago.
'Well you could sound a bit more enthusiastic,' she scolded.
(It's the middle of the night, or it could be, and I've been sleeping, and it was lovely and I'm not ruddy enthusiastic.)
I jumped up brightly - or as bright as you can be when you're pissed off and bleary eyed, prepared to be attentive to whatever wondrous thing had happened - Britney in Rehab, Gossip Girl second series out on DVD. etc.
'You need to get up.'
(No, no, no.) I tripped over my jeans, my shoes, stood on a stiletto heel, kicked over a glass of water and swore
She pulled back the curtains.
'It's snowing.'
Ah - so yes. Apparently hell does freeze over.
