Her Majesty’s Meteorological Office faithfully promised us “heavy” “snow” with mist.
We received soggy slush, and lots of no mist. Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme squelch.
Having little to no self-discipline, morals or meteorological standards, I still took the opportunity to run outdoors and take a topless selfie in the “snow” (lead photo above).
My peregrinatory perambulations were perforce tip-toid, given that my favourite boots split yesterday, and the replacements from Ship’s Stores have urban soles with little to no grip-grabbery. Can’t get more than about five thousand miles out of a pair of boots these days, I don’t know what the world’s coming to, really I don’t*.
*Nor do I particularly care, so long as it sods off and leaves me in peace.
The fields were ripe for black-clad parsons scurrying from consoling overnight death-of-minor-gentry to officiating at peasant “shot-gun” wedding of a hapless couple spotted sharing facial intimacy under the wild mistletoe and over the hot pig-swill in the farm-yard yestereve, but saw I none. They manufacture parsons to no greater standard than they manufacture boots these days.
The trees were naked, as is their wont even in near-zero of the Celsingheits.
I don’t know how they do it, I can’t take more than a couple of minutes and at that only when spreading the still-warm stove ashes in the hedgerow. Trees are made of sterner stuff than I. Mind you, I’d make a lousy coffee table, so there’s balance of a sort, even in Nature.
Referring to Nature, while the hump-back whale may be in decline hereabouts the local population of hump-back bridges remains stable.
The sign may read ‘No track-laying vehicles’ but someone’s gone and left a set.
I’m no expert but from the evidence of the wheelbase and the print of the “O-Bead” Bridgestone POTENZA RE050A 255/30 Y 19 tyres I’d hazard a guess that the track-laying vehicle in question here was a 1934 Sunbeam 20 Sports Saloon carrying three adults, the rearmost passenger sitting to the left of the seat and the second carburettor needing just a tad more air for efficient running.
A pleasant walk, for all that it was uber-damp and remarkably cold given that we remain on the upper east side of Zero.
When I returned to the Cardinal I took the ottorpunity to clean off the solar panels. It’s likely that on a day such as today they’ll still keep up with my immediate needs, although possibly they’ll be able to make no inroads to the overnight deficit (of some 9.8Ah). I’ll wake up one of the hamsters later, and set it to running in the wheel that’s attached to the dynamo. The Crimson Dynamo. Ah, Magneto, and Titanium Man. How times have changed, and not for the better. I feel like letting go, but I’ll just put my hand in the medicine jar instead. Listen to what the man says.
The Cardinal’s bottom is cold, the world is blue, and there’s nothing I can do.
Actually, one thing that I can and I shall do is to remain indoors, aboard, for the remainder of the day. The squelch and the mud are in the ascendant here as everywhere.
There’s a couple of lavishly-proportioned servings of yesterday’s Saag-esque vegetable curry to be had, and there’s also a large pot of rice on the stove. The joy of getting to be anciently old is that by the time I come to eat I don’t remember who put the extra garlic in the curry or who put the pot on the stove. Whoever it is that does such things, I do notice that they always leave the washing up to me though, so there’s lovely for you yes indeed Myffanwy.
From my desk window I am being treated to the sight of a Robin hunting worms in the mud. Please forgive the poor quality of these photos of Robin; both taken through glass and at the full extent of the pocket rocket’s zoom capability. Ta muchly.
Seriously, I’d rather have veggie curry.
He looks awfully round and puffed up in the hedgerow, but I would bet a guinea to a farthing that he’s mostly feathers, and what lies beneath is scrawn and scraggle. Still, at least his (face-)cheeks are rosy. I am not going to up-end him to check on the rest. Not the done thing, don’t you know.
I am always in awe of these beasties, surviving as they do. Chuck most humans into a hedgerow for the winter and you’d like as not come back in three days to find the kernel of some Hallowe’en decoration.
So there we have it. Our “heavy” “snow” is, for the moment, slush and nonsense.
Ian H., & Cardinal W., of The Fleet.