Cold as ice...

So here we are in the North Pole.  

Well, not quite the North Pole, more Kings Cross, but it's blooming freezing up here.  This afternoon, the husband and I have trolleyed between various hostelries looking for an open fire, a mulled wine and a knee blanket with little if any success.  Instead, there was kiosk after kiosk selling street food and let's be fair, who wants to be nibbling on a bratwurst when it's -3 and it means taking your gloves off.   

We eventually managed to squeeze into a lovely restaurant; this was actually the first one I picked out, but the husband (AKA Team Leader) always likes to do a circuit of wherever we are 'just in case we find something better'.  Well we didn't, so it was into the Granary Wharf Brasserie where we sat perched at the bar like a couple of shivering cockatoos.  Two glasses of wine, four gin and tonics, some prawns and a delicious goose and turkey shepherds pie later we had warmed up substantially, and I was actually regretting wearing my thermal vest.  

But of course, the warmth came with a price, mainly the ability to walk in a straight line, so it was a great relief that our hotel was a mere stone's throw away - well it would have been if we had walked in a straight line.  If anyone had been watching us from above, we would have looked like a couple of ants walking though a minefield while trying to not step on the cracks in the pavement in case we got eaten by a bear.  But we made it back to our hotel and had a lovely 'sleep it off' snoozle and now, we are ready to try and find our way to the O2 to see Pete Tong.

The husband is very confident that we shall make it there in one piece.

I've heard that one before...