It often happens, come November: the air cools down dramatically and suddenly I start smelling something in it. Something that isn't here. I am talking of the smell of snow. I know it must be wishful thinking: it's much colder this month, but we are still ten degrees to warm, give or take, for any snow drop. Yet I can smell it, especially at night. This is something quite distinctive about November: it is still autumn, but winter is coming and, to a degree, already there. Sometimes I consider the second half of November a de facto winter. Be that as it may, it is one of the reasons why I have started loving this month. But if it snows in November, here, in the South of England... Well, that would be highly unusual.
Blogue d'un québécois expatrié en Angleterre. Comme toute forme d'autobiographie est constituée d'une large part de fiction, j'ai décidé de nommer le blogue Vraie Fiction.
His Lordship is in the UK and he said it is just rain and gloom
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