And it is, even still now. I was late for work. We'd been promised snow and I was sad when I woke that there was none to be seen. That the view outside my kitchen window was grey. Grey skies, grey concrete, grey smoke rising up in the distance. I felt much better after, when I saw the soft flakes floating about in the wind, a clean white blanket over the roads and footpaths, people in bright coloured coats holding their arms out to steady themselves as they slipped and slid down the road to the tube. I watched it from my window for longer than I should have (I was late, but what was a few more minutes?), and once I was outside I delighted in it. It stuck to my eyelashes and stood out on my own red coat. The snow made London delightful, clean and pretty. It made everyone smile, or moan, as I saw on facebook later.
I watched from the tube, the outside sections. Watching as it swirled in through the doors at every stop, coating everyone in little white flakes, pushing out the warmth with a frosty front. Everyone has their gloved hands thrust into pockets, heads down huddled down against the cold.
I watched it from works window, 12 floors up. Watching it hurtle over the tops of buildings to settle in calm swathes on roofs and in squares and out over the river. I watched it till the sun went down and it was dark. Then I looked for the street lights, to see the snow filtering through from the dark.
It is snowing in London Town.