This morning sees an unusual juxtaposition ...
It is January.
There is snow remaining on the ground (just).
It is cold; the mercury is below freezing.
There is a really hard frost on everything.
There are even roses with frost on them.
The air is still and there is steam rising vertically from everyone's boiler vents.
I shall be wearing a sweater.
No, it isn't Siberia ... it's WINTER. In England. At last!
And this is how it should be.