Ski bug

One of the great things about living in LA is that we are within a couple of hours of a snow topped mountain. Which means that anyone with flexible working hours and a car can decide on a whim to head out of town for a last minute ski trip.

One of the bad things about living in LA is that there are a lot of people with flexible working hours and a car.

We've been meaning to head somewhere for some snow all winter, but had rather let the perfect (the dream of a week in Jackson Hole) be the enemy of the good (a couple of days somewhere closer to home).  There's been so much rain recently even humble, relatively low lying, Big Bear had snow. Some snow. More than last year at least. So when a friend texted on Wednesday to say 'Heading to Big Bear tomorrow - want to come?' we said 'Yes'.

It became clear that we weren't the only people with that genius idea, right about two hours into what should have been a three hour drive. Two and a half hours later, we arrived to the grotty condo that was the best option available at the last minute. We chose it because it was walking distance to the base, and thank goodness we did because the traffic the next morning rivaled the LA rush hour.

The traffic was so bad we weren't the only poor souls walking (the horror!)

Oh, and did I mention it was also the LA Unified School District AND the Orange County School District's annual 'ski week'? That is, the week they extend the Federal Presidents' Day holiday to create a week of school so all the kids of LA and the OC can head up to - yup, you guessed it, Big Bear.

Consequently all the ski lessons were booked. But I think she had a much better time larking about with TLOML and her buddy than she would have done in a lesson anyway. TLOML - along with our ski instructor friend and her able snow-plougher child - gave P some coaching in the basics.

At first she mainly wanted to eat snow and 'climb the mountain'.

After TLOML had towed her up and down a shallow 20 foot slope a few times she was getting interested. Sort of. With a bit of whining and some 'I want to dig with my skis' and 'Please can we make a snowman' thrown in.

Then I took her to watch people getting on the chair lift.

That was the moment her love affair with winter sports began.  She wanted to get on that chair lift so badly she even followed instructions, and made a half hearted attempt to learn how snow plough.

So they got up there and made a couple of runs down the nursery slope together. Then we gave up on the endeavour because, of course, the queues were too long with all the other schmucks who had come up from LA at the last minute. A hot chocolate and some long-awaited straightforward playing in the snow followed. P is now officially into it - loves the mountain and can't wait to go back.

Which is good, because we are going back next week. This time we booked in advance - and not during Ski Week - and this time she's doing proper ski lessons. Let's see if her new love affair will endure.

The weather in LA is terrible. Especially when it's not that bad.

Well, that was rainy season I guess. It came and left in the space of about three weeks, with several days of rain across that time and some colder days too. We had enough rain to skip watering the plants on our deck, and for P to gleefully dig out her umbrella. There was enough rain in the rest of the state for the drought to be almost over (for now), although not enough in Los Angeles, apparently. And enough rain here for locals to joke about how poorly prepared for it we are. It got cold enough to switch the heating on, and even light a fire. Okay, at 15c maybe that was stretching it a bit, but we indulged ourselves.

I think most people here enjoyed the novelty and are glad to see we are going to enjoy some warmer, sunnier weather now. But I have not had enough. I have this burning nostalgia for cold air, pink cheeks, clouds of breath, slapping your arms together and stamping your feet for warmth, taking off several layers of clothing when you get indoors - but keeping thick socks and a nice warm jumper on.

Looks like they're having that sort of weather - and then some - in the UK right now. Listen, I'm not crazy. I wouldn't wish a 'thunderstorm' on anyone, nor would I want to experience one in person. But for sure I could handle some blustery days. The weather here is never ever bracing. Sigh.

It makes me sad to think that P has never really had that experience. When she was a baby and we lived in Saltburn we had to bundle her up, but that's long forgotten. And a few days up a Californian mountain every year or so won't really cut it either.

Remember woolly hats?

It's not that I want her to be cold. That's just mean. I think I just want her to be nostalgic about the same things I am nostalgic about. By that logic, I suppose I'd like her to know how it feels to sing folk songs round a campfire with the Girl Guides, or have calamine lotion rubbed onto sunburn, or eat cold rice pudding from a little glass dish, or other childhood memories that bring a lump to my throat. I may have read too much Brambly Hedge lately. But it's no good, I can't manufacture her memories, and she's going to grow up in a place with mild winters, the poor little mite.

TLOML told me today that being afraid for the future of the Affordable Care Act is not a good enough reason to move to the UK. I rather think he'd say the same about wanting to experience poor weather, only with even greater conviction.

I might just have to settle for a trip to the UK next winter. That's about as much as TLOML can handle to be honest, and he'll spend the whole time nostalgic for 25c and sunshine I know.

The beauty of June gloom

June gloom this year is absolutely glorious. It barely lifts at all! Never mind the bold blue sky that usually emerges around noon. We are in wall to wall grey. And it makes me want to put on The Smiths and have a nice cup of tea.

Glancing down a walk street on my way home I could almost have thought I was back in Yorkshire. Sigh.

4.30pm on a June day!

 Our deck is positively autumnal all day long.

Mellow mists...

Admittedly it does spoil our peek of a sea view. But think of the time and money we are saving not having to bother with the daily chores of sunscreen application.

The Pacific is definitely over there somewhere

No-one else seems to like it much, but I am feeling right at home and I love it.

In search of snow

Last year we went to Idyllwild on a doomed hunt for winter. This year I satisfied my craving for chilly weather with that flying visit to London.

But meanwhile, Lady P is in danger of thinking a light breeze and 15c makes for a cold winter's day. And she's never really seen snow. Which is a shame as it looms quite large in her imagination, what with the number of books she has involving polar bears, snowmen and just actual snow.

This time we decided to head to Big Bear, our nearest ski mountain. This being LA's ski resort, they have no qualms about manufacturing snow if none falls, so we knew we wouldn't be disappointed.  Even if it's just fake stuff on a groomed ski slope. And as all good Californians need to be comfortable hurtling down a mountain, it's probably about time that Lady P gets to know what goes on in a ski resort anyway.

We arrived after dark last night. First thing this morning Lady P and I went out in PJs to find some snow.

'Look! I see some! Over there!'

This was the best I could do near the cabin, and she was thrilled at first. But once we got up close and she realised it was just dirty icy slush, she was a bit disappointed. I promised her we'd go and find some fluffy, possibly manufactured, snow. And so we did.

Here she is sitting with a hot chocolate watching people descend on last night's newly pumped snow.

All about the apres ski (technically this is avant ski but the concept is very similar)

It aint exactly the Alps, but it's a good start. After that we crunched along the bottom of the slope which delighted Lady P. Then we had a long and confusing conversation about various expensive options to get Lady P out on some skis. Which is par for the course for any would-be beginner I think.

She has yet to actually get truly in amongst the snow but we've certainly laid some good groundwork.

Preparing for the worst

Hermosa Beach is battening down the hatches in anticipation of some El Nino storms and heavy rain. Free sandbags (10 per household) are being given away at City Hall, and the gateways in the low wall that runs along the beach have been bolstered with heaps of sand. We are advised to keep the petrol tank at least half full, and to make sure we are stocked with enough food and water to keep us going for a few days. So far we have survived a couple of days of intermittent rain, but apparently there is more to come.

Lady P doesn't mean it, of course: the thrill of her life is a rare rainy day

At the risk of sounding complacent, I don't think we have too much to worry about. Our house is on the crest of a hill and elevated from the road, so someone else is welcome to our ration of sandbags. We have - as always - enough food to keep an army marching for at least a week. And if the town is flooded so badly the gas stations are shut, I won't want to drive anywhere, so I am not worried if the needle on the gas tank dips below halfway.

Perhaps some of this complacency also stems from a sneaking suspicion that the people of Southern California overreact somewhat to bad weather. Playtime outside is cancelled at Lady P's preschool when it's raining - a shame as it's not often she gets to wear her favourite red wellies and her cute little rain coat. Loved ones (who shall remain nameless) say things like 'Are you sure we should go, in this weather?' even if where we're going involves getting into our car inside our (weatherproof) garage, driving a couple of miles, and walking 20 feet into a (weatherproof) restaurant. People drive inexplicably slowly, as if through a blizzard. The big joke at the gym is when the coach says 'Okay, go warm up with a 400m run... Ha! Just kidding! I'd never make you run outside in this weather!' because it drizzled a bit earlier in the day. And then I see footage of the Cumbrian town my sister lives in, flooded again, and everybody just going about their business and getting on with it and can't help but roll my eyes a little at the softies of SoCal.

It's probably not just people being soft, to be fair. This town is not really built for wet, cold weather. Lots of people keep a lot of stuff outside - toys, cushions on their deck furniture - all year round. Many of us don't have much clothing to straddle the gap between beachwear, and full on ski gear. Half the seats at half the restaurants in town are on outdoor patios - currently blasted with heatlamps to recreate that balmy feel that comes naturally the other 9 months of the year.

I do know, that El Nino is an actual phenomenon. And one which has caused carnage in many places, in other years. And while I teased the apparent overreaction to Hurricane Irene in Manhattan, I know Sandy more than vindicated that response. But in this city of high drama and easy living, I suppose I'm just hoping it will be a few days of the kind of weather Yorkshire people describe as 'spring showers', and that sandbags and emergency supplies will be left unused.

Weather conundrums

For most of my adult life I had no problems wearing weather appropriate clothing. A quick glance at the weather forecast and I had an outfit all figured.

Now, living too long in LA has ruined me. On a business trip to Portland last week I saw that the forecast was 12c and had to ask myself 'what does that mean? Is it a jacket, and trousers, but bare ankles? Or does it require tights, a wool coat and maybe a scarf?' I chose the former but (and maybe I'm just getting soft) I think I should have gone with the latter.

The clocks have gone back, and the shadows are longer for a greater part of the day. And sometimes in the morning it has felt a bit chilly.  So I have ended up dressing Lady P in something autumnal a few times recently. Only to strip her down, apply sunscreen, and roll my eyes at this ridiculous climate, a couple of hours later.

Looks pretty autumnal, doesn't it? She was actually sweating.

Lady P abandoned her leggings to play in the water feature

TLOML and I even lit our fire last week, and made S'mores. An hour later we had the doors and windows open because it was too warm. I should be more British: we know that there's no need to light a fire if you're sitting around in shorts and a t-shirt.

If it helps, I'm not the only one who's confused. I saw this good looking Hermosan family at a beach diner this morning:

Getting some wear out of their snow gear

The girl was wearing a woolly hat with a t-shirt. The mum was wearing a padded gilet with shorts and flip flops.  Maybe they, like me, are hankering for some cooler weather.

They might be local and not know any better. For me, well, I've forgotten what real weather is like, and I miss it. Pictures like this one in Lady P's book always tug at my heart strings, but they have a particular resonance this time of year. I crave a rain-heavy sky.

Grey skies, a scarf, and falling leaves. Sigh.

File this post under 'High Class Problems' too, I guess.

Fall Fashion

Labor Day weekend has been and gone, the kids are back at school, and summer is officially over. This was one of my favourite times of year in the UK: misty mornings on the Heath, the opportunity to light a fire and make hearty soups - okay, maybe not in September, but October is just around the corner. And the delight of flicking through magazines imagining what woollens I would be
'shopping my closet' for, what new boots I had to have, and deciding whether last year's coat would do for this year or not.

Pictures like this would make my heart skip. Look at them all belted up with their nice scarves on!

Not any more. Now I just feel pangs. That Burberry ad ran in the September edition of Vogue, which I bought to keep Lady P's archive up-to-date, along with lots of other Autumnal images. They are like postcards from another life. I flicked through images of long coats, clunky boots, and heavy tweed skirts, with my short shorts on and my flip flop tan line visible.

This is what autumnal dressing looks like in LA:

 

Sigh. I know, this is another post like that one where I moaned about it being too sunny in our new house. I'm sure your heart just bleeds for me.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful. There's a lot to be said about warm weather, after all. And while autumn and winter are wonderful seasons, they can drag on a bit in Britain. So I'll enjoy the shorts season while it lasts (another month or two, I'd say). And I'll keep my fingers crossed for at least a month of rain, and a handful of evenings where I need to put socks on.

Rainy Season

Rainy season has been a bit rubbish this year. Not enough water for the farmers, and not nearly enough for Lady P either.

Umbrellas and rainboots are such a common feature in her books and so rare in every day life she finds them absolutely fascinating. She was given an umbrella for her birthday and we had to switch the sprinkler on so she could use it (I know, not very water sensitive of us - but it was only for a few minutes, I promise). She loved it.

Happily a couple of days later we had some rain. Lady P was delighted by the pitter patter on her brolly and puddles to splash in too.

Do children who live in rainier places (ahem, England) get the same thrill out of a puddle? Maybe so. But would they be as delighted by our constant sunshine? I don't think so.

My nieces, about to visit from Cumbria, will enjoy the weather I'm sure. But I don't think it'll have anything like the impact the reverse trip – a few days of rain, or snow, in the Lake District – would have on Lady P. Now my nieces are older than Lady P, so it's not a fair comparison, but still I think for any child the fun of the seasons is all about kicking fallen leaves, snow angels, and splashing in puddles. Even if you're British and you get a decent amount of puddle splashing and leaf kicking.

Sunshine, by contrast, is something grown ups take pleasure in. No faffing around with hats and scarves, the ease of leaving toys outside almost all year round, the ability to plan a picnic or playdate in the park without ever checking the weather. I don't know any children who care about any of those practical considerations. And I don't really know any children who complain when it's not sunny. Those nieces would be happy to run around on the beach in all weathers.

So there you go. Beautiful sunny weather - like so many other things (quiet time, personal space), wasted on the young. 

In search of winter

It's about this time of year I get nostalgic for proper winter weather. I hanker for woolly socks, roaring fires, hearty soups and pink cheeks. I am also a little concerned that Lady P will think it's normal to conduct winteryactivities wearing sunscreen and shorts.

So I planned a family jaunt to Idyllwild, a haven for artsy and/ or horsey types, high up in the SanJacinto mountains east of LA. I found us a cute little A-frame cabin in some woods, by a creek, and was expecting snow: all the ingredients of a truly wintry getaway. Given that we were at 6000ft above sea level, this was not an unrealistic expectation. In other years there has been snow up there as early as October.

However, in 2014, snow has yet to fall. In fact, the weather was disappointingly balmy. Basically the kind of temperatures that wouldn't be out of place on a May day in Yorkshire.

I'm proud to say we did not let that deter us. We still wore our woolly jumpers and winter boots – we just left our coats and hats indoors. And we still lit a fire.

Something is missing from this picture... The ground should really be white

You almost wouldn't know it was 15c outside

Fortunately we weren't there just for the weather. I also wanted a weekend without obligations and errands, and some time for us to switch off (albeit from our pretty stress-free life). So we kept the sightseeing light, content with a drive up to a nice viewpoint where Lady P clambered on and off the same rock about a dozen times.

Rock climbing in winter woolies

We ate hearty mountain food, and played cards and drank whisky, and poked about downtown Idyllwild. And we didn't watch TV or go to Target. It was almost perfect. But next year I'm thinking we'll go to Aspen instead.

Sledging*, Hermosa Beach style

So this appeared, about a week ago, on the otherwise flat sands of Hermosa Beach.

It's a sand dune as high as the pier and twice as long.

I asked a couple of sources of local knowledge to what end the officials of Hermosa Beach had constructed this huge sand dune. One told me it was to redistribute the sand that gets shifted throughout the course of the year. Another told me it was so the kids here can go sledging*. We're a bit short on snow, you see.

Whatever the real purpose, it's getting plenty of use for the latter. Here is the scene from the dune, late afternoon this past Saturday, with lots of kids cruising down it on boogie boards.

And here's a really festive image for you: a child in a bobble hat and a dad carrying a proper wooden sledge. If they weren't wearing shorts you could almost believe we were in Tahoe.

But Lady P knows we are not. So she stuck to 'surfing'...

 ...and pouring sand onto the boogie board...

...all the while shouting 'wheeeeeeeee'. Which was sweet, but not quite the same as actual sledging*.

------

*You can call it 'sledding' if you're American, or short on 'g's.

Redemption and optimism

Having gone nuclear, and cleared all the beetle infested plants, our garden was looking rather bare. And I felt the need for redemption.

So we planted watermelon seedlings at the weekend. Anywhere else this would surely be the height of optimism. According to the tag they take 97 days to produce fruit. Which puts our projected harvest somewhere in late November. Hmmm. There is a reason that watermelon salad isn't a traditional Thanksgiving dish, isn't there?

As well as watermelon, we planted tomatoes, peppers and edamame seedlings. Lettuce, basil and coriander seeds too. We also planted a few herbs, which seems less wildly hopeful. And I took the opportunity for a spring clean (albeit in August) to clear out the overgrown and increasingly bitter chard, and move a few salvaged plants to better spots.

The garden looks neat, tidy and just like a garden should at the start of the growing season.

Too bad Fall is officially around the corner.

On the basis that this is the city of year round sun, I'm hoping for the best and ignoring the fact that the rainy season usually commences in November. We can handle the odd shower, but we need temperatures to stay in the 20s (or 70s) for this renegade off-season harvest to work.

Keep your fingers crossed, please, for an extended Californian summer. If this goes well, I'm going to shoot for a double-crop of summer fruits next year. Hell, I might even plant a mango tree.

June gloom

June is here. And therefore, so is June gloom.

Los Angelenos like the rest of the world to think we enjoy year-round sunshine. (Don't mention the rainy season.) But June really is quite gloomy. It's something to do with the marine layer, a blanket of sea mist which weather conditions hold, hugged close to the shore, throughout the summer. In Yorkshire, they'd call it a sea fret. But in Yorkshire, it wouldn't lift for days.

Here, it lifts every day, at some point. Here's how it works:

8am. I comment 'What a grey day'

10am. 'Is it lifting? I think it might be lifting.'

11am. Decide to hang the throw out to dry to reduce tumble-drying guilt

2pm. The throw is dry and I am applying SPF30 for my commute back to the house

June gloom is wonderfully predictable. The only variance is whether the marine layer lifts before lunch or after. Sometimes it doesn't lift till late afternoon - but there's always sunshine for a late afternoon stroll along the beach. It's guaranteed by Los Angeles county law, I think.

In England, there is a lot less certainty. Yes, summer is full of glorious, sunny days with bright blue skies and little fluffy clouds. Beautiful days that rival anything LA has to offer. But it just might rain at any time. Only a fool ventures out for the day without packing a brolly as well as their sunscreen. Of course, that's part of the reason those sunny days are such gems.

I'm feeling sentimental at the moment, and looking forward to our trip home to the land of 'mixed' weather. Something tells me the novelty will wear off just in time for me to return to Hermosa and enjoy the rest of summer full of boringly predictable, 70s-and-sunny afternoons.

Mists, mellow fruitfulness, etc

It is certain to exasperate, bewilder and infuriate TLOML but I am properly excited for autumn. I love, love, love autumn. I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call it my favourite season - after all, it goes on too long and is just a bit damp at times. But the start of it, the change in the air, the arrival of chillier mornings, crisper days, earlier evenings, and oooooh, soup! - is just lovely.

I haven't had an autumn since 2009, just before I moved to the US. There's no real autumn in Los Angeles, since those palm trees never shed their leaves. I might start wearing a coat in the evenings, but that's about it. No leaf-kicking, bobble-hat-wearing walks there.

Manhattan, I had thought, would offer us a proper Fall. Instead we just lurched from a hot, humid summer into a brutally cold winter - with a couple of bipolar weeks in between. I remember a snow storm at the end of October, when earlier that same week I'd been out with bare arms. At least we did get to see a few pumpkins, and the seasonal display at Rabbit Hutch Towers was quite autumnal, but that was it.

Last year in London autumn started straight after spring, sometime in mid July. It was hard to really get excited about it since there was no sense of seasons changing: it was just a year of endless chilly rain. We did have a nice apple harvest, but that alone does not an autumn make.

This year, after a summer of long, sunny days and bright blue skies, eating outside and actually needing sunscreen, autumn makes sense. This year's harvest (from my parents' garden) knocks last year's into a cocked hat. A couple of stormy nights have brought branches down in the Valley Gardens, giving my runs a nice cross country vibe. We had spaghetti bolognese for dinner last night, the first time I've craved something warming and hearty since May. And as I type this I feel, for the first time in months, the need to put socks on. The thrill of it!

Harvest time - Autumn 2013

I suppose I can indulge my love of this time of year even more than usual. After all, we'll be in sunny LA before the dark afternoons and grey mornings get monotonous.

Summer as it is supposed to be

Last Spring TLOML and I moved into that sweet little garden flat, and anticipated a glorious English summer. I remember sitting on the Heath in t-shirts during a freakishly warm spell in March, salivating at the thought of the months ahead, to be spent in sunny London, replete with picnics in the park, barbecues in the garden, and afternoons spent sipping bitter shandy in beer gardens. That, for me, is what the quintessential London summer involves. Plus we were getting married, the Olympics were coming to town, it was a Jubilee year generous with bank holidays - all signs were good.

In the event, it was a bit of a washout. Not the bit where we got married. That was perfect (despite the rain most of the day). And yes, the Olympics were brilliant - but somewhat anomalous. My main memory of them now is of how continually surprised we all were that London hadn't ground to a halt after all, and the volunteers were really surprisingly nice. But most importantly of all, it rained all summer long. It was the wettest summer in 100 years. Not such an auspicious start to our new life in London, and not a great encouragement to my sun-loving husband.

This summer by contrast is shaping up to be everything an English summer should be. Blue skies and bright sunshine every day for the past couple of weeks - we've had more sunny days in the last fortnight than all of 2012, it seems to me. Long, light evenings where it's actually warm enough to sit outside and eat. Again, we've eaten dinner in our yard more times in July than we managed all summer long in Fox Corner last year. And it's a north facing yard, half a mile from the chilly North sea, at that. What's more, 2013 is an Ashes summer.  Five weeks of wall-to-wall cricket, to be listened to on the radio sitting on a rug in a park, or on the beach, with a backdrop of kids playing their own 2, or 3, or 5-a-side version of the game.

Maybe I look back with rose tinted glasses. Perhaps my four summers in the US coloured my homesick view an even deeper rose. (Actually I was only in the US for two summers, but I'm going to count the two Winters in Malibu as summers too). But this is what I remember English summers to be like. All strawberries and cricket and sandals. And days like these:

Blue skies and green fields

Another sunny day at the seaside

Sadly I've already established you can't live somewhere just for the weather. Otherwise I think I could make a case for staying here forever.

Whatever the weather

'You can't live somewhere just for the weather' I used to say, as we gazed out from our balcony across  the Pacific, sparkling under another perfect Malibu blue sky.

I stand by that. It was, and is, important to me to live in the UK, to be close to family and friends. The weather in London never put me off returning home, and the rather brisker climate in Saltburn didn't deter us either.

My first line of defence was that the British weather really isn't that bad, anyway. So what if the summer is a little unreliable? Always have a brolly in your bag and you'll be fine. Yes, our winter is rather longer and colder than the three weeks of rain they get in LA, but at least we get to enjoy autumnal mists and fresh snowy days perfect for snuggling in front of a fire. And then there's spring, of course. Seasons are a wonderful thing.

My second, and more principled line of defence, was that, as I stated at the start of this post, 'You can't live somewhere just for the weather'. If you could, well, we'd all move to Southern California. Or Provence. But we choose where we live for reasons more personal, more particular. It's about people, relationships, possibly career, and culture - but surely never just an external factor like climate?

I hate to admit it but after surviving the wettest summer and the coldest spring on record, I was starting to question my reasoning. After all, 'just climate' is the reason people are so smiley in California, I'm sure. Blue skies cheer everyone up - even if you see them all year round. And good weather promotes an outdoor lifestyle that just does make you feel good. It seemed like an age since I didn't need socks and a jacket in the UK, and that depresses me. Maybe climate isn't just an unimportant external factor after all.

TLOML texted me pictures of Los Angeles last week. Acres of golden beaches, populated with tanned Californians playing volleyball and jogging. Restaurants with year-round outdoor seating. It made me sigh, and again, wonder whether climate is rather more important than I had thought.

And then the sun came out here. The ice-cream van arrived. The beach was packed with kids playing. I sat in my dear landlady's garden and ate scones in the dappled shade of her apple tree. My sister looked after Lady P - easy enough when the weather's nice and she's just hanging with two happy boys in the sunshine - and I went for a lovely run. We all went to the beach together, and sat and had coffee in the sunshine. Lady P had her 11ses in our back yard. I haven't worn socks for days. It is magic.

Finally, she needs a sunhat!

So I suppose my new position is that yes, weather is important. The state of the sky does rather impact my state of mind. But the good news is, I only need a couple of sunny days every once in a while to make me happy. LA's sunshine is wonderful, but an extravagance I do not need.

That's my new line, and I'm sticking to it. (Whilst praying hard for plenty of sun this summer).

Our waterlogged new life

I don't mind the rain. I don't mind doing a bit of gardening when it's drizzly, or going for a damp walk, or even popping to the shops on my bike. Like any proper Brit, I know there's no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes. But I don't love it when it rains all day every day, like it has been lately.

TLOML does not share my tolerance of wet weather. Far from it. It actually makes him angry. 'Where is it all coming from?' he asked me yesterday, in a tone that can only be described as outraged. He tells me there is rain forecast every day for the next 15 days. A bleak outlook indeed.

This weekend we visited Oxford for some wedmin. As I looked down over the rainy quad, and damp lawns, I wished I were able to confidently state that our wedding day won't look like this:

As it is, grim realism has to triumph over blind optimism. The best I could manage was a highly equivocal 'We really ought to be able to expect good weather in July.'

It wouldn't be so bad only for the contrast with Malibu. It's okay to trade the beach for the Heath, especially when you have good friends and quality gastropubs to soften the blow. But comparing year round warmth and near-constant sunshine with weeks of grey Spring rain... TLOML is questioning the wisdom of this move and I don't blame him.

Unprecedented snowfall. Unless you count last year.

The roofdeck at my friend The Gambler's fabulous flat, where I am staying. I think I'll eat breakfast inside tomorrow.

It's snowing in London: thick, and deep and lovely. Big fluffy snowflakes are still coming down, and even scruffy old Kentish Town looks pristine, all covered in a blanket of white. Victorian railings look even more Victorian when they are dusted with snow. And the mismatched paving slabs are better hidden too. Just when I thought I couldn't love London any more, it went and got a new white coat.

Prince of Wales Road, from The Gambler's window. Trust me, it doesn't always look this pretty.

Snowfall is rare in London. Snow that settles is even rarer. In fact, you only see snow like this every twenty years.

Which is funny, because in the winter of 2010/11 there was a crazy amount of snow, the likes of which you only see every twenty years. And remember that violent cold snap with all that heavy snow in the winter of 2009/10? That too was the kind of snow you only see every twenty years.

Last year's unprecedented snow

Hmmm. Either we've used up the next sixty years of snow... or there might be something in all this talk of climate chaos after all.

Which is a bummer, partly because it discredits me. I've been vehemently insisting - to all those New Yorkers who disparage the English climate - that 'the weather in New York is SO much more extreme' and 'we NEVER get snow or temperatures below freezing'.

Clearly I am wrong. It used to be true but it isn't any more. And yet, I'm not the only Londoner who hasn't caught up with reality yet. Londoners really don't handle this weather well at all. Tonight on my short walk through Kentish Town I saw a man wearing a blazer over a shirt, with no scarf or gloves on. Another man in canvas plimsolls. And a girl in jazz shoes, bare ankles and leggings.

People, it's below freezing, and it's been snowing for five hours! You'd be laughed off the island of Manhattan in that get up.

2009's unprecedented snow. Note the woman without clothes and all the flimsy shoes. Not a pair of boots among them!

I never thought I'd say this, but it is time to succumb to the appeal of the duvet coat. Make like New Yorkers and wrap up for goodness sake!

Fashion mystery solved

I finally understand why even stylish people wear those long coats that look like sleeping bags.

Blake Lively: officially stylish

I guess I never lived anywhere cold enough to see the benefit before. But at -10c in Manhattan I'm starting to get it.

The sleeping bag coat. Not chic.

I had dinner at Puttanesca with my favourite New Yorker yesterday. The restaurant is a brisk half hour walk up Ninth Avenue and I thought the walk would keep me warm - plus I had my special cold weather clothes on.

The 'cropped' sleeping bag look

What a fool! My coat is too too short. Between the top of my furry snowboats and the bottom of my sleeping bag I lost all feeling. Even my heaviest, cosiest jeans couldn't keep that bitter NY chill out.

I should have known it was too cold to be outside. Earlier in the day I went for a run and lost all feeling in my fingers, so I tucked them inside my hoodie and walked for a while. While I was walking I lost all feeling on my behind, which gave me the odd sensation of walking down the Hudson riverside with a bare bottom. It was so convincing that I had to look down to check the seat of my leggings hadn't fallen out.

Brrr. There's only one thing for it. And it's not to go out and buy a floor length sleeping bag coat (despite Blake Lively's shining example).

Our puppy

Allow me to introduce our puppy. The puppy is a cheapo velour throw thing we bought for emergency crashing-on-the-sofa guests. It is called the puppy because when it gets all crumpled and heaped up and warm on top of you it feels sort of, well, like a puppy. (Guess who's never had a puppy).

Till the weather gets above freezing, I'm staying in snuggled under the puppy. I admit it, I'm too soft for this town. Take me back to the temperate climate of London!

Weather Up

I was going to do all sorts of fun and useful things today. I was going to go for a nice long run. I was going to take photos for my blog. And I was going to buy butter and fruit.

Then I looked out of the window.

TLOML and I had been warned to get our cold weather gear early. We hit T.J.Maxx a couple of weeks ago and bought ludicrous padded coats.

TLOML's duvet of a coat

I hope, I pray, I don't really need this coat

At the time I laughed - and cheaped out - because I couldn't imagine needing to wear this coat more than occasionally, and surely not till December. How naive. I bet T.J.Maxx today is full of fools who just moved here from California, in their flipflops and t-shirts (which were wearable in NYC just a week ago), panic buying down coats.

Incidentally, Weather Up is also the name of a great unmarked-door bar in Tribeca, which is perfect for afternoon drinking (not least because it's so hip that night-time drinking there is probably a little obnoxious). But on a snowy, sleety October day, we are not prepared to weather up, even for Weather Up.

We may have the kit, but we're still not leaving the rabbit hutch. We're hunkering down with that massive fish stew.