The white stuff

The sun was shining when I got the bus out of London yesterday. In the Thames Valley, we drove into hard rain. By the time I got to the rehearsal venue in Oxford, snow was swirling in the light of the streetlamps.

One singer after another staggered into rehearsal looking increasingly frozen. I handed out chocolate and positioned them under warm stage lights. (I tend to bring chocolates to rehearsal. If I'm going to work people like dogs, I figure the least I can do is provide a sugar rush.)

I normally try and sleep on the bus ride back to London, but this time I was glued to the window. The hills of the Ridgeway were blanketed in white, with more coming down. Every one of the branches by the side of the road was bowed down under its load of snow.

By the time we got to chilly, soggy London suburbia, the snow wasn't settling any more. I'm glad I saw it, though. I wonder if there will still be any when I head out today?

The white stuff

The sun was shining when I got the bus out of London yesterday. In the Thames Valley, we drove into hard rain. By the time I got to the rehearsal venue in Oxford, snow was swirling in the light of the streetlamps.

One singer after another staggered into rehearsal looking increasingly frozen. I handed out chocolate and positioned them under warm stage lights. (I tend to bring chocolates to rehearsal. If I'm going to work people like dogs, I figure the least I can do is provide a sugar rush.)

I normally try and sleep on the bus ride back to London, but this time I was glued to the window. The hills of the Ridgeway were blanketed in white, with more coming down. Every one of the branches by the side of the road was bowed down under its load of snow.

By the time we got to chilly, soggy London suburbia, the snow wasn't settling any more. I'm glad I saw it, though. I wonder if there will still be any when I head out today?