down with brown!

Alright. It's official. I am sick to death of autumn. It's bloody abysmal outside - grey, lifeless, colourless, spiritless. Even the wind is boring - whether whipping furiously and pelting us with bits of airborn litter or puttering listlessly along the gutters and toying unenthusiastically with the once-yellow trampled flakes that were cheerful, crunchy leaves over a month ago, it no longer carries the sweet, earthy, musky smell of rotting pumpkins and leaves, nor has it moved into the biting freshness of a chilly winter wind. It is a dusty grey small, about as inviting as sniffing a clod of cakey, dry mud. And it's dark - with the sun setting earlier and earlier there's none of the white stuff to reflect whatever remnants of sunlight there might be at 4:30 or beam back the sickly orange glow of the streetlights as I hit the street; I am pedalling in blackness, which is really just a darker shade of the same crappy grey I see all day, every day, everywhere I look. And I tell ya, the longer it stays grumpy donkey grey outside, the crankier I'm getting.

Bring.

Me.

Snow.