Gently falling snow, dim street lights, trees, church bells, dusk…

Almost Victorian.

I half expected a country urchin to gambol out with a dirty face and hobnail boots before squeaking, ‘Spare a sixpence? My pony Bobbin has terrible gout!’

To which I would respond, ‘Nae, but I have a lump of coal and a cuff about the ear. Now, off to the workhouse with ye!’

Ah, happy winter times