Word of the day

berm, as in 'snowplow berm' (thank you, FFL jhetley), that infuriating bank of snow that the ploughs throw up and leave to freeze into immobility or turn into crumbling quicksnow, depending on temperature.

The ways deep and the weather sharp/ The very dead of winter.

There's no starch in the house because if I have it I eat it. But yesterday I was dying for bread, having missed out on the carb-fest that is Christmas dinner, and also on the turkey part as well. I had liver and ginger stir-fry, but that wasn't what I wanted: I wanted white meat and bread stuffing. When next door forgot the care package they promised to bring round before taking off to the wilds of nowhere for the cousins' Boxing Day party, I had no choice but to head out into the -22C gale (-7 for the F folks.) And happy to do so because I am not a homebody, and being indoors for a whole day (yesterday) makes me antsy.

So I double and triple and occasionally quadruple-bagged myself (quintuple if you count my camisole underwear) and headed out. Sun shone, wind had dropped from yesterday, I had my hiking staff, and the sidewalks were generally clear or flat. So I walked over to Pauper's Pub and had their exceedingly indifferent turkey dinner, but it was mash and stuffing and gravy and rather more turkey than I wanted and rather less cranberry sauce. And so my itch is scratched, and I walked back home as well to work some of the piggishness off. Walking is still miraculously easier than last year, or in shoes this year, and so I must hope it continues.