We're in London.
It's grey, it's mild, it doesn't get light before 8am in the morning. As I write, I overlook Greenwich Park, which is looking green-brown and grey in the mist. A little further away, I see the masts of the Cutty Sark, and the surprising spike of the Shard in the distance. Further still, the BT tower. I used to work around there - Fitzrovia. It's all very familiar. My home city.
In the park, parents are out in force with their children, despite the January gloom. It's a far cry from Long Island, where everyone goes into hibernation from November till March. I sit there supervising the boys in my thick Long Island coat and sheepskin boots, feeling out of place amongst the light jackets of the London mums. I used to be one of them, but now I have morphed into somebody different, no longer pushing a pram but watching my older Littleboys play a game about spies in the sandpit, not needing me to be involved at all.
The boys have school interviews later this week, and The Doctor is out sorting out his job for when we return. We're starting to think about where to live. Suddenly, July seems very close. Our sojourn in New York will be over, and a whole new chapter will begin.
Let's hope for the best in 2013.