Winter Chill

It’s midday. The sky is a pale Northland’s blue, the sun has been valiantly shining for nearly 4hours, the grass outside the windows is white with rime and in the absence of any wind, the last remaining leaves on the trees spiral to the ground in a temperature of -3°.

It’s a picturesque scene as I look out, wearing an old down filled coat, the central heating on high, an extra radiant heater at my back. This is the penance for sitting still on my bahookie reading the Sunday Papers in an open plan house with 18 single glazed windows. The Swedes and Norwegians would laugh in the face of British architects who think this is acceptable in our climate in the 21st century. Conservation area is no excuse as far as I can see, just a con to save money.

His Lordship and I were of course out much earlier in the dark in -6° to pay homage at the Temple of Toast, and we are out again this afternoon to visit one of my friends of many talents who is bravely having an Open House for the gustation of a festive mince pie and a glass of festive cheer. I may have to dispense with the down coat for the duration.