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He ventured forth, out into the great cold, the sunny cold, but the cold cold.
He was brave that way, venturing out in to the cold, when he might have not ventured, but instead stayed inside, where it was warm, or at least not cold to the same degree it was outside and, besides, there were comforters inside, a few extra duvets, and a wide range of blankets with which he could ward off the cold, sharp, tingling tendrils of coldness, possibly armed with a hairdryer and hot water bottles, and a book, though the book would only come into play once all threats of his toes freezing off when they inadvertantly poked out beneath the mountains of covers had disappeared and he felt reasonably comfortable moving around underneath the unexplored regions of the sheets and covers which were, themselves, not exactly warm, unless he'd done some major prepartory work with the aforementioned hot water bottles and hair dryer to get even the most remote corners suitable for appendage habitation.
But none of that for him, he ventured out, into the cold, away from the relative comforts of home, with gritty determination and some sort of other appropriately grimey resolve, and a black hat pulled low on his head. He also happened to be wearing another hat on his right hand, as he couldn't seem to find the matching glove to the one he wore on his left hand when he rummaged about, looking for things to ward against the cold.
Halfway home from the market, of course, he realised he'd forgotten to buy a paper. And doughnuts. Damn.
disclaimer:
I have an abiding fondness for strawberry jam.
Having said that, sanemagazine still doesn't quite accept strawberry jam as legal currency.
Nor should you.
Unless you'd like to form a consortium with sanemagazine and accompanying ventures that accepts strawberry jam as currency, then would you please direct your enquiries here.
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Yer Weekly Horoscopes. Miltonian heights of grandeur.