At the moment we're in mid-winter. Thankfully, I don't live in Moscow, or any of the other places in the world that get *really* cold in winter. Here, it's just wet and cold, not snowy and freezing. Most days of the week I catch the bus to work, then drive the (newly recovered but still stinking of tobacco) laser from the bus/train station to my home. On friday I did this, in the pitch black, pulling into my driveway to the sound or rain beating against the windshield and wind gusting through the trees. I got out of the car, grabbed my pack and my umbrella, went to the door and - after a struggle with the keys - managed to get it open.
And I'm greeted by light, warmth, the smell of cooking, and - best of all - my two little sons, sitting on their bikes in the doorway, waiting for me. They both have plastic yellow helmets on their heads, and Pip has made them pretend mail-bags to hang about their chests. They're postmen today, it would seem.
As I open the door and walk through, they shriek with delight, and ask me how my day was, and ask me if I got wet, and ask if I rang the doorbell, and tell me they have letters for me.
And I know for sure that life doesn't get any better than this.