As snowflakes the size of killer bees batten and fatten upon the cowering metropolis, the world turns Harry Langdon white.
Snow keeps going on and off every minute. TV weather forecast will need an epilepsy warning.
So, a wee bit of snow and the Art College closes. I don’t quite get how the college is any less safe than anywhere else. The conspiracy theory connects this event to a planned union meeting that maybe management would rather didn’t happen, the non-conspiracy theory sees Scotland going the way of England, a nation of meteorological pantywaists who sink into the bluest of funks at the merest hint of fleecy precipitation.
Anyhow, the afternoon off gives me time to maybe watch PORTRAIT OF JENNIE or something.