And now over to our weather correspondent, Mr Charles Dickens:
Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled 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; fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little 'prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.
Latest from the BBC:
About 350 flights out of Heathrow have been cancelled on Thursday. Domestic flight passengers are being advised not to go to the airport... An American tourist caught up in the delays at Heathrow said there was a general feeling of "despair" amongst passengers. "Everyone is really angry. Everyone is lying around trying to get comfortable. Nobody knows what they're going to do."
The important thing is not to go into any zombie infested portions of The Fog - this is quite easy to spot due to the eerie glow, the fact that it moves against the wind while actively chases Jamie Lee Curtis and if you get too close you get your eyes gouged out by a wet wormy thing.
But if you were always a little disappointed that there was no real Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill in 'Bleak House' then you can read our favourite Ray Bradbury story right here: The Fog Horn.
Even Diamond Geezer has fallen prey to the stuff.
Photo credit: Leon Wilson