Ice Day

or Ice Morning anyway.

Last night I woke up in the aptly-named wee hours and used, as is my habit, my mobile phone to light to way to the toilet. I noticed that I had had a text message at 11:30pm. I read it. It said that the Prefect of the Gironde had prohibited buses from running before 10am. 'No school for Catrin', I thought, as I wended my weary way back to my downy couch.

Thus it was no surprise this morning when I heard her coming back from the bus stop where a kindly gentleman had told her that her 7am wait was futile, there were no buses. It's drizzling out there, and I don't think it is all that cold. I'll be able to get to Blaye, I'm sure.

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