Cruelly forced into the outdoors by the warm weather. All very well doing the hard work of engaging in mental preparation for the colder weather so as remain positive, but today is in the second half of November which for those of us who attempt to have their being in the Northern Hemisphere should classify as winter, a time to atrophy around such things as whether or not King Offa of Mercia had a fondness for the deformed and certainly not a time to be prancing around outside with hammer, measuring tapes and nails.
I have spent years recovering from my exile into the Northern Hemisphere, of all
memories my first winter still exists in a dream state, it was snowy, it was
cold, it was miserable, most of the time it was dark and everyone was
horribly pink and jolly. Then when I reckon I've finally achieved some sort of
relationship with winter, not ridiculous things like skiing, but more sensible
things like gentle indoor projects, it's November the 17th and it's Eighty
Degrees of Fahrenheit, there's Chard in the garden and Lettuce up the wazoo, and
all of this in circumstances of drought. Frankly I blame the US Electorate.