Pimlico powercut, Snow is coming from the north. The men grunt silently. The women are streaming. It is the realm of fear and contrary to all the best scientific evidence I am still breathing. In fact I am breathing easily and the air smells curiously fresh. Ok the written word is proving difficult to use this week but the spoken word is rustling among the leaves. Put another way I am pressing The Keys One By One
Why do I assume a feminine presence?
Antigonal.