Night time taboganning

The much-anticipated snow started falling at about ten o'clock this morning, just as we were taking young Cas to the vets' in Camden. We were hoping that they'd take him straight in for an operation to have his tumour removed, but unfortunately he's going to need to wait until Monday. 

The lovely vet sent him home with some pain killers. Apparently rats are rather adept at suppressing all signs of being in pain. In the wild, a sick rat would be ostracised by its family group and end up a target for predators, so you don't tend to discover they're ill until it's very much too late. As a result, vets tend to treat rats with pain killers at the merest hint of a problem. You learn something new every day. 

I went for a haircut as the snow began to swirl. The man who did the honours spoke very quietly and had the silliest hair in the world which looked like a squashed porcupine on Tarmac. Frankly, anyone with a do like that was never going to make the best job of my hair, and sure enough, when I looked in the mirror, I saw Mr Whippy staring back at me; a great big, quiffy turret on the top of my head. 

We've just returned from the top of Parliament Hill, where we've been doing a spot of night-time tobogganing. Spinning down a hill in an out-of-control manner without any sense of its topography is both insanely terrifying and wonderfully exciting, especially when you're going head-first. I'm not entirely sure it's the best thing to do with a bad back, and Nathan seems to have dislocated two fingers, but, you know. Hey ho!

We've come home to watch an episode of Rosemary and Thyme whilst eating pizza. A Friday night doesn't get much better than this.