Rozi Plain - "Actually". Contrary to Emma's assertion, summer may never arrive. Winter may cozy up, decide to see what May and June are up to. August! Been a long time! These months will greet winter with feigned delight, clumsy fancy handshakes, this pit-of-stomach uh-oh at the newcomer. Everyone except the kids can see that winter is trouble. Everyone who has been around the block knows not to lend winter money for his meter. It's only the kids who are delighted by the season with ice in its eyes, snowflakes in its lashes. I'm having a picnic - you should come! someone tells winter. Winter says OK, winter says it'll be there. September and November exchange knowing glances. But already winter's canoodling with someone in the corner, blowing breezes in their ear, holding a glass of white wine in each chilled hand, making smalltalk about blizzards and curling, the best places to go cross-country skiing. Sometimes, when change is in the air, people get the wrong idea. The maybes they begin to imagine are the maybes that should never be permitted to occur. They listen to the high pipes of possibility, its young harmonies and new rhythms, they think: Worth a try! No, not worth a try. Don't renew winter's visa; don't offer to let it crash on your couch. If there's a perfect new song on the turntable, a song by a London musician called Rozi Plain, let it be a goodbye song not a hello anthem. Don't let winter get any ideas, allured as you may be. Listen to the sunbeams, the postcards from warmer places: they are sending you a message. They are frightened of the forecast. They don't want February friends. [video/more]