Winter Welcome

It is cold. Winter has arrived, finally, rather like a bustling old woman with too many bags trying to exit a tiny car; her disorganized knitting falling all over the place; her craggy lips stained with the detritus of ancient cough drops and steaming drool. Winter, shuffling up the garden path with its varicose veins and carpet slippers. Winter, the self-invited, exasperating guest upon whom you are forced to wait hand and foot until it leaves. Yes, welcome winter, shambolic, old and deaf, welcome anyway: We've put you in the small room at the back, with the low bed, we think you'll be alright in there .... I said: you'll be alright in there, with the low bed ... Mind the step, dear. That's right. Just leave your bags and your knitting in the hall for now ... in the hall, leave them ... we'll deal with them later ... I said: we'll deal with them later ... Now, what can we get you, would you like a cup of tea?  ... I said: would you like a nice sit down before dinner ... before dinner, sit down before dinner?
Bloody winter, always a big to-do whenever it comes round, especially when it's late and we've all been sitting here waiting.