Nobody moves to Beijing for the weather. Spring brings sandstorms, summer is unbearably hot, autumn is just about ok, but winter is the worst of all – Arctic temperatures, Siberian winds, the streets covered in grey compacted snow and black ice. Except this year it doesn’t seem to have arrived. Less than a week left in January and there hasn’t been so much as a flake of snow, the wind is blowing at a normal civilized speed, and the usually ubiquitous facemasks and earmuffs are nowhere to be seen. There’s still a month of winter left, though, so nobody is celebrating yet.
It’s not all good news, especially in one regard – it hasn’t rained at all since October, and the city, located in a dustbowl without a single decent-sized river, is dry beyond dry. Every time I touch something metal I get an electric shock. I’ve even started flinching when I touch the pole on the subway. Touching people is much the same. It’s a bit like that Electric Six song, but not as good.

A Beijinger, in the winter

The only really good thing about winter is Spring Festival AKA Chinese New Year. I’ve got over two weeks off, which seems like an age, but it’ll be over fairly quickly I expect. The due date for the baby is the 17th, three weeks today, so we’re obviously very busy with preparations, but this is also a good chance to catch up with the various projects I’ve started for one reason or another. So expect more stuff here in the next couple of weeks.