From seeming weeks of near-Nordic daytime darkness England has now entered a phase of bright but frosty rigidity. Down to -3°C (circa 26° of the Fahrengezundheits) last night, and this evening is supposed to be on the order of -6°C (that’s about 21° of Effings). Later on in the week, just to suggest that you change your fancy winter tyres back to the summer ones, the nights are supposed to climb back to 10°C (50°F). The extra blankets will be on and off faster and more often than you can say ‘make your mind up, per-lease!’
The absolutes of our weather here are, of course, mild in all respects when compared to that of those of you out there thinking that’s not hot/cold/windy/rainy/snowing/whatever, but the point is, in Ing-ger-lund, there is absolutely little to no telling what we’ll get next. By “next” I mean hour to hour, morning to afternoon, day to day or even week to month. The best of the “summer of 2019” happened in February. There is a reason why you see English chaps out and about in t-shirt and jeans all year round, putting up with whatever is thrown at them by the Met Office, and that reason is because the alternative is to carry an entire wardrobe at all times to cover all eventualities.
Here is a little diagram, courtesy of something called “Buzzfeed”, that shows England’s latitude, and what else lies on a similar latitude – plus, as a bonus, where England would appear were it flipped to the southern hemisphere. The original article is here, and it’s a fascinating read from start to finish.
Of course, those of you who come from countries – alright, a country – that doesn’t “do” anything other than domestic geography (and barely that) you’ll have to look up the position of England to understand the diagram!
Were it not for the North Atlantic Drift I’d be an ill-tempered polar bear and England would be a public loo for igs.
I do (much) prefer winter to summer, but my goodness me, Doris, I am feeling the dark and the cold this year like no other. If I had to nail it down I’d say that I began to fall apart in 2018. Perhaps I am (now) “just out of guarantee”?
I’ve moved a couple of times since the previous post. Once just to take advantage of a splendid day and to turn us around, and today – after waiting for my hosepipe to un-freeze – via the services and down to a favoured haunt to meet a chap about some groceries and, later, mayhap, a chap about a Boat Safety Inspection.
I confess that today was – once I’d come to terms with the frosticles – too nice a day to not have a little cruisette. I met four other boats in the space of two miles and a stop at the services, so other folk* obviously were of a like mind.
*When I am Lord High He-Who (Must Be Obeyed), absolute ruler of this and the Kingdom of Mongo, previously held by Ming The Merciless, I shall abolish “other folk”.
An awful lot of narrowboats (and cruisers) that one passes now are uninhabited and will remain so until next April or thereabouts, their owners too sparrow-livered to love them in winter.
In a recent blog post I mentioned that a sack (20kgs – 44lbs, if you’re non-un-de-reconstructed in re weights and measures) of “coal” briquettes lasted me four days and nights. Well, it used to. I’ve timed the consumption of a couple of sacks this year and I’m barely getting three days and nights out of a sack. I’d love to see the formula used in Eastern Europe to manufacture these “coal” briquettes, and to cop a sly glance at the change record in the factory office. 😉
I wonder if moles feel the cold?
I suspect that the answer is both yes and no.
Right, I must away into the galley and thrash Cook until he comes up with something warm and stodgy and comforting for din-dins. If all else fails I’ll eat Cook.
Keep warm, keep on keeping on and don’t let the bar stewards grind you down.
Ian H. &etc.