sugar coated

Everything is white.

No, it didn’t snow, but the temperature fell a couple of degrees below zero during the night, and everything is covered, toe to top, in crunchy, crystalline frost. Hater of cold that I am, I took the view from my window as a sign and made like a polar bear. That isn’t to say that I lingered around a hole in the ice sheets and clubbed a seal to death with my claws before gorging myself on its inches and inches of nutritive blubber and bloodying my furry, white face; I simply wrapped up warm, which is cleaner, and enjoyed the snugliness of being toasty in the middle of a veritable hike through the Siberian tundra.

Happy, I are. But what’s this?! Tickets for Sting’s Royal Albert Hall performance are sold out already? Somebody kill me - that just isn't fair.