Winter wonderland

Have you noticed, good people, that as the nights draw in, as the days grow colder, the library changes subtly? If you are very lucky, the heating will come on, and work. If you are unlucky, it will come on occasionally, in certain rooms, so the men reading their papers are quietly toasted, while the knitting group upstairs have to huddle around a small electric heater for comfort. I have often thought that if we could harness all the energy produced in our mother and toddler group we could probably power the lights and the kettle all day. (Well maybe not the kettle - our tea and coffee consumption increases to gargantuan proportions during the winter).
It also looks different when those corners, normally illuminated by daylight, are suddenly plunged into four o'clock dark, and look increasingly attractive to the teenagers who hang around the park in the summer, but need somewhere warm for the winter. We also seem to have an increase in tramps, and rather oddly, crosswords that are neglected in the summer months find themselves mysteriously complete in the winter.
And the books - the weighty tomes that are too heavy for summer suitcases disappear off the shelves in the winter. What better time to try Ulysses for the sixth time than a gloomy Tuesday in November when there is nothing on the telly? Some people even like to find out what sort of spider has crept in to their bedroom in the dead of night.
So, libraries are not immune to the winter chill or the evening gloom, but you might just find a haven and a tonic to get you through the season. Or possibly a warm corner to hibernate in.