Short walk

After the high of last night, I made the dual error of staying up until 2am, and then hiking Dragon's Back at 9 in the morning.

This wilful sleep-deprivation did at least instill some empathy with our visitor John, who was suffering jet lag from flying in on Thursday to present at a conference. He's now suffering other aviation-related problems, as Heathrow is covered in snow and no planes are flying in or out. British Airways' website offers a number to call to check about rescheduling flights, but that only leads to a recorded message telling you to refer to the website.

We have to fly to Canada later this week; I hope that snow doesn't have the same dread effects on their airports that it does on British ones.

After our long walk, we had brunch at Scirocco. This betrayal of my brunch-related ideals left me with a grumbling stomach. Well, it was that or drinking too much strong coffee and eating more than I should have. But that doesn't seem likely. We staggered home and then collapsed to bed, only rising from our slumber to self-medicate with curry and naan bread, and then weep bitter tears as our feline houseguest departed, after six happy months.

It was particularly sorrowful as she had only just begun sitting on our laps, after months of standoffishness. While my fiancee believes this is because of her newfound love of us, I put it down to the drop in temperature and her identification of us as a convenient heat source.

Still, it feels rather odd to have no cat to stroke, no purring source of fur balls to scamper into the shower, or chew on any rubbery accoutrements of modernity, or lick and bite our extremities. My beautiful cat, how I miss her so.