There, see? Real proper lovely nice smashing snow
Those Finns know how to have a decent winter to call a winter. Minus 22 Celsius and neck-high snow. I know I shouldn't be jealous, but I am. All we seem to manage in this country is a couple of slushy days and maybe one awful afternoon when no-one actually makes it home.
If we had proper snow then....etc. etc.
You know.
Coming home to NBTS from Hartburn today I found myself in that magical moment, that leaning back on a dining chair wondering whether it will topple over or not moment - that special moment of wondering whether we were going to have "proper" snow or not.
Deep down I knew that it was not to be, but I wonder if you, like me, find yourself half wishing that it would be a real deep proper snow. Of course, we also know how awful snow is after the first fall, we know all the problems - the chapped hands, the cold, the mess, the filthy salted roads, the difficulty getting around - but it's somehow worth it for those glorious moments of being wonderfully snowed in.
Suddenly out comes the Dunkirk spirit. It's wartime again. Neighbour helps neighbour to dig themselves out. Those who can make it to the shop fetch things back for those who can't. All of us watch the skies for the next fall and eagerly exchange conversations about the previous times of heavy snow.
Naturally, there's always a bore from Scotland or Siberia or somewhere who has seen it much worse/ had it far colder/ seen the actual sea freeze, but we try to ignore such people as we luxuriate in our temporary snug haven of snow. With luck, some plucky fellow from the other side of the village will make it through the drifts to visit - with epic tales of long and difficult journeys home.
Everyone will agree that the gritters didn't come out until it was too late, and that any downside of the whole affair will broadly be the council's fault.
So, as I drove home, almost mesmerised by the little snowflakes rushing past my windscreen, these thoughts came crowding in. In actuality, by Pegswood the flakes had turned slushy, and by Ashington itself they were merely rain.
For a moment, I was almost sad.
Today is Wednesday, these are it's waves.
I looked out the window this morning and immediately realised I had to get out to see the sea. The trouble is that it never seems as impressive when I attempt to capture it with the camera. So, here is my best effort.
Perhaps, if you are near enough the east coast today you might take a look for yourself. It is inspiring.
...it's insufferably hot. Well, certainly for me.
I do see the irony. I pray for warmer weather, sick of the incessant stream of drizzle and chill wind. When the warm weather actually pokes its head over the horizon, it's barely 5 minutes before I find myself uncomfortably hot and sticky - praying for it to cool down again.
Warm weather is OK on holiday. We know the deal - it will be pretty warm, and we will spend a lot of time in the pool or the sea - or maybe in a nice air-conditioned room/restaurant. We don't need to get any work done, we don't need to travel anywhere on business and we certainly don't need to got into town and walk from shop to shop in sweltering heat with our legs hurting like hell.
It hit 30 degrees centigrade in my micro-shack today. I noticed this as my head lolled exhaustedly, dispersing millions of tiny sweat droplets around the room. Surely this is no temperature in which to attempt to work?
Ah, I reckon the global warming enthusiasts would have plenty of takers today. It just all seems to make so much sense...
Maybe this should have been my year in the Big Brother house. Yeah, they'd love me - Grace in particular. Twelve weeks of legitimised lying around and a guaranteed £100,000 at the end of it - it's sounding tempting.
Look out for my full run down of the Big Brother “stars” this year. Soon. When I can be bothered.
It's SO HOT!
Et Finalement, Le Photographeur...
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