Last night, I went to Clare Hall formal hall. I wore a skirt with tights and rode my bike there. I have a vicious looking mountain bike, not designed for riding while wearing a skirt. The skirt, of course, kept scrunching upwards. It was very cold. My legs, protected only by the sheerest nylon, were cold. Luckily, they were soon numb and I was quite comfortable.

Today, I woke up and the world was covered in snow. Fluffy white spots floated from the sky to rest on every surface: cars, leaves, branches, ledges, bike seats, roads and lawns. To Australian eyes, it looked like a whole lot of snow.

I was meant to take a train to London for a meeting this afternoon. At the breakfast table, I asked my Dino and Alex, “Do trains run when there’s snow?”

“Yes,” they replied, unconcerned. Dino comes from snowy Canada and Alex comes from snowy Norway.

“Actually,” they added, “Maybe not in England. Trains in England stop when there are leaves on the track.”