9th February 2009

Dear Britain,

I've heard things have been cold with you, the worst snow in twenty years they say. The television shows pictures of people sledging down hills, villages with a coating of icing sugar and even Big Ben dripping with ice. To me, it all looks so beautiful, but you have struggled to cope. Trains, planes and roads have all ground to a halt. The whole country stopping and, but perhaps relishing the enjoyment of this too rare moment. There is another side to this romantic image, no one yet knows how many people haven't made it through the cold.

From our land of ice to this of fire.

Here, the thin red line crept up and up until it reached 46. Then the winds whipped in and, before anyone could figure out if it was even possible to prevent it, the lands had caught on fire. Soon all that was left was black, scorched branches, twisted sheets of corrugated iron, clouds of orange smoke and lonely chimney stacks still defiantly reaching up. An inferno it's difficult to imagine even from this end, I'm sure you won't be able to grasp it. People are homeless by the thousand, and have lost everything but the clothes on their backs. Many didn't make it out at all. There has been a drought here for more than ten years. The land is dry and thirsty and there is no sign of this thirst being satisfied any time soon.

So these extremes compete on opposite sides of this earth. It has been hotter than you have possibly ever experienced here. At times I've felt like I'm living in an oven. I can't help but yearn at times to step outside and see my breath spiralling away in wisps of white. I miss hats and gloves and winter coats and burying my nose into a scarf. I love the idea of sitting inside on a frosty night in front of a fire. Everything is back to front here and I know the time will come here for the cold and for now I will enjoy summer skirts and brown skin and be grateful I am safe from the flames.

My thoughts are with all those with nothing left.

I hope next time to have happier news to share.

JC