Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits
and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls deified among the
tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and
dirty) city. Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights.
Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on
the yards and hovering in the rigging of great ships
So there I was: sitting hard at work reading Dickens for my next English Literature essay. He can be so tedious, so after a couple of hours I was all hot and bothered and dying for a break. I was making notes about selfishness in Bleak House. when I realised actually, hell, why dont I be a bit selfish for a while? So I started searching instead for some light relief, and to my amusement found What did I find? Take a look for yourself.