I tried photographing the wind. It didn’t work. I’m fed up photographing the rain, so I didn’t bother. Jadies and Lentilmen, you’ll just have to make do with some random images instead.
It’s also dark. Dull dull dull – and dark. I am typing this by the light of a small bushel. My solar panels opened one eye (each; their own; thankfully) this morning – “morning” – and promptly hit the snooze button and went back to the land of nod. I was sore tempted to do the same. The only thing that stopped me from doing so were the memories of the previous night’s dreams. I was in the back seat of a chauffeur-driven left-hand drive banana coloured Mini convertible (but top raised, one of the new sort) and we were hijacked by someone who stood in front of the car with a large gun – and repeatedly fired live bats through the radiator grill and into the car through the ventilation ducts.
No idea what that was all about, almost completely certain that I don’t want to know. One thing that I do know is that my dug drealer is going to have to spend a lot of time in hockspital with his kneecaps when next I see him.
For those of you perhaps struggling through life with ugliness of the face-bone and with severe chiroptophobia here is a soothing photograph of a tree. I’ll eschew your chiroptophobia and cling instead to my somewhat severe trypophobia.
[I kid you not, I’m funny that way.]
Squirrels live in trees. Oh boy, do they live. Party party party.
I haven’t seen a squirrel for a couple of weeks since. They’re all probably on OAP Winter Package deals in Portugal or Spain by now, sensible little devils. It’ll be squirrel-Sangria, blocked toilets and endless games of Bingo for them now until spring.
It must be said, this rain is almost relentless. The rain is also a southern Jesse. I know this because while it has severely flooded Yorkshire and Lancashire and all of the Midlands, it has yet to attempt to drown that which needs drowning most – London and the south.
I say almost relentless because we – the Cardinal and I – victualled yesterday and two things happened. The delivery driver arrived fifteen minutes early and Mr Trolley and I got down to the marina to meet him and back with our groceries without being rained upon. Actually, three things happened; the delivery driver was amazingly cheerful. Five minutes after the beginning of the appointed hour-long slot I was oiking my crates of lemons and salt beef aboard. If I still drank professionally then they would be stacked next to the barrels of grog, but instead the bottles and jars and cartons and packets are stashed in the comestibles baskets and the spuds and carrots and cabbage and broccoli and onions are arranged in pride of place in the pewter vegetable bowl, as a cheering display.
Here’s a totally unrelated photograph of a concrete fence-post.
It’s just too far for me to make the annual pilgrimmage to Easter Island these days, so come the solstice, any solstice, I generally just take off all of my clothes and hug one of these at sunrise or sunset or something sun-related instead. You make your fun where you can on England’s canals. Some folk favour circles of stone, but I quite like straight lines, so I relate more to England’s thousands of miles of these rather less ostentatious monuments.
Almost relentless also applied to the visit of Halsall, the Fuel Boat, not long after victualling, whereupon I purchased half a dozen sacks of dinosaur remains, Mr Stove for the consumption of. Oddly – and I suspect that I am being set-up in some sort of meteorological conspiracy – that visit took place in the not-rain dry, too.
Here is a random photograph of Halsall, the Fuel Boat hereabouts. The weather was even less clement during this particular visit, there being then an excess of coolth about the land.
It was half a dozen sacks because I am here, now, geographically and temporally consumer-confused, in that my most favourite marina chandlery (Venetian) is in a state of happy juxtaposition and Messrs Fuel Boat cruised through. I need to support both. I want to support both. I’ll buy – assuming that they have the stock available! – the other half-dozen and a sploosh of diesel from the chandlery, and be more careful about where I moor when in future, the better to not confuse myself in matters of consumption. Having both favourite businesses in the same place at the same time is just too much for Mr Brain to assimilate.
Here be a random photograph of two birds setting out for winter in southern Italy or Greece. Greece is the word is the word is the word is the word (other ear-worms are available).
I call this shot ‘Testing the zoom on the Pocket Rocket’.
Here be a random image of the “Pocket Rocket”.
Possibly the most useful camera – for civilian purposes – that I have ever bought. I would commend them to the Nation, but they’re no longer available. When you get to my age many, many things are no longer available.
Mr Stove is behaving nicely, I’ll be cooking luncheon on him later. Having a multi-fuel stove is a similar to having a baby to look after, in that you do have to feed it every few hours. The major difference is that you can set light to a stove, make a veggie stew on it and let the CO and Smoke alarms do the minding in lieu of an o’pear (SIC).
Here is a random image of Mr Stove, taken this morning. The image has been photobombed by Mr Fan. Mr Fan whirrs. See Mr Fan Whirr. How Mr Fan whirrs. Whirr, Mr Fan, whirr.
Every summer (“summer” – this is England) I forget how coal-dusty winter is. From October or November to March or April I have black fingernails and the face of an over-fed chimney-sweep.
The Police are coming to collect the fingernails and the face sometime next week, when the Panda Car is back from the garage, and they hope to identify the chimney-sweep in question.
Oh well. I suppose that I ought to get back to working on my plans for World Domination. I have food (oh boy, do I have food), I have coal, I have another week on these moorings should I require it, but I have no idea where my mind went. If any of you spot it while out and about then please lend it the bus fare home and tell it that I am not angry, just a little bit disappointed with its behaviour.
I shall leave you with the good news that my RidgeMonkey is working splendidly, and we are moving on, slowly, to ever more exciting adventures together.
Chin-chin one and all. Here is a random photo of a sunset, the better for you to be able to actually remember them.
Ian H., &etc., By Appointment, E&OE., other blogs are available, opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the blogee. Accept no wooden currency and avoid eating yellow snow.
p.s., the rain of the past few nights has actually been some quite substantial hail and there are already reports of snow-covered hill-farmers in the northern reaches. Now is the Winter of Our Discount Tent – and it’s early this year.
We have Premature Winter.
So far we have the brrrrr but not the picturesque.
Does that constitute a meteorological brrrr-l’esque show?
Oh Jebus H., Mind O’Mine, come home, just come home please.