To Go or Not To Go is surely no question for me

Waking up in the wee hours of November 30th, after it had been snowing on Monday, I was not sure if I would travel to London on that very day. Even an hour before I had to leave I still was not sure, yet other people, who obviously do know me much better than I myself - heck, even two wonderful inhabitants of Stockholm, with whom I had stayed just a night almost ten years ago, must have known me better after this short period, for on leaving them again, they enquired which place I would be going next, in their opinion it could be anywhere on this lovely earth - were deadly sure I would be going. And so I did against all the odds, it's a shame if one does not dare, at least one should die trying...
So I took my husband's car and went to the train station in Geilenkirchen, took the train to Aachen, where I boarded the Thalys to Brussels, all this accompanied by a more or less snowy landscape. In Brussels I took the Eurostar and observed that the amount of snow in the landscape was diminishing in Northern France. Still announcements on the train were bound to give a slightly different impression. The delay was estimated at about 30 minutes. Nevertheless I expected even less snow in England, so there was nothing actually mentally preparing me for the view I had after the Eurostar had left the Eurotunnel: The landscape was whiter than I had seen anywhere on this day before, absolutely Siberian and therefore kind of anticipating the talk of the evening.
Thus the Eurostar arrived with a delay of 28 minutes at St Pancras Station in London. The further travel to the hotel by tube was rather uneventful, apart from a group of very well behaved and good humoured young Flemish gentlemen, who reminded me of the traits I love about this particular country so very much, their cheerfulness and lightness. The hotel was nice, the staff polite, whatelse to ask for?!
With just enough time for some snack I went to Covent Garden, where silly me had to take the 193 steps of the stairs instead of the lift on my way up at the tube station. This mountainous excursion at least had the effect that it made my pulse run and oddly I passed two German women, who were nearly giving up.
Covent Garden Market was wonderful and the image that stays in my mind, is one of huge red Christmas baubles hanging beneath the roof, the snow flying through its construction and falling into my glass of red wine. Then I felt thoroughly fit to go up north to Shaftesbury Lane and from there to Bloomsbury Square and there it was right before me, Pushkin House. To be continued...