Winter is coming

In the illustrious words of the Stark clan, the most hated and arguably most beautiful season is nigh upon us. Winter. Snow is has not dared fall yet upon my story book Normand town but it's coming. You can smell it. I haven't even chosen my Halloween costume (whose cleverness and social wit will be lost among most of my French compatriots because it will probably be based on American cleverness and social wit) but the air is crisp and the rain vacillates between lulling mist and harsh, spiky projectiles aiming for your head. It's not sure when will be the right time to strike, turn to slush, and commit us to cabin fever for several weeks but you can smell it calculating it's opportunities. Until then, probably 2 months from now, the weather is teasingly nice. Really nice to where you're tricked (or treated!) into wearing dresses, skirts, shorts, light jackets in the morning and then frozen solid and looking miserable by the afternoon. Until then my friends, mark the wise words of the late Sean Bean and note: Winter is coming so go to the Carrefour supermarket and grab rain boots on sail (my English is turning into Franglais - SALE) before everyone else notices!! We do not sow. (Season 3 March 2013)