I am sat at London Waterloo waiting for the train to take me back to France. Three days of meetings in the UK, I've been staying with my sister and her boyfriend, seeing friends and otherwise running around like a busy chicken.
People might have been forgiven for thinking it was snowing here. Yesterday, as I got up from a coffee with a colleague, I reached for my coat and scarf. The coat is black and the scarf a lovely new big cream woollen wrap. The wrap has been slowly shedding fluff, moulting all over my coat and black jumper and trousers. To the extent that as I stretched to put the coat on, a flurry of fibres floated through the cafe, my colleague trying not to laugh.
The third and final day away, on my way home, my coat is not so much black as grey and my eyes pink with the irritation. I shall be heading to the dry cleaners tomorrow morning. We'll see if Frog recognises the cloud that will enter the flat, on my return tonight.