fluff-drifts again

I remember a conversation in my early days here, where I was extolling the beauties of a freezing cold but beautifully bright winter's day and V said 'nothing is ever exactly right in Moscow; it is either to hot or too cold, we are  very unlucky' - which I took as stereotypical Russian fatalism (something as which V excels, although mainly humorously.)


But it is that time of year again, when there is tree fluff everywhere - pollen spread by the many poplar trees. The weather is again beautiful - this time clear spring skies, sunny and warm (almost too warm). And, as if to support V's argument, it is somehow turned a little weird, as the ubiquitous fluff floats by, coating every surface both inside and out and gets in your throat and nose.