Bitter cold temperatures, several feet of snow on the ground, school cancellations — these are the kinds of things that usually compose my winters (with the possible exception of the latter — my superintendent didn't believe in snow days). Between growing up in Rochester and going to school in Ithaca, I've seen some of the coldest and snowiest winters every year.
Until now. Over the past week or so, the temperature here in London has been at least 45-50 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm already busting out some of my spring clothes. The only snow we've seen was the "blizzard" a few weeks ago, and I'm starting to see why the Brits had a tough time coping with it.
Not that I'm complaining — trust me, it's a nice change of pace — it's just a little bizarre for me. I have to keep reminding myself that it's February. Horses for courses, I guess.
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