Walking to work in the snow is absolutely no fun whatsoever, as I found out again this morning. Walking anywhere else in the snow is perfectly fine, of course, but when you're walking like a man who's been freshly castrated for longer than ten minutes it actually starts hurting.
Anway, as my shoes collected an unreasonable amount of slush on them, and as my suit trousers started to resemble those snowballs that dogs get in their fur, and I started wonder just what the fuck I was doing pissing about like this at 6am in the morning, The Windmills' What Was it For? popped into my head.
And all was well with the world.
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