07 January 2024 , 19:25
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Oh for the winter days of childhood!
Snow falling as we gather round the gaslight at the bottom of the street. Slides on the downhill pavement, much to the annoyance of parents who say (rightly) they’re a health hazard. Would kids today know how to make a slide? Repeated runs on compacted snow, until the run glistened with hard, black ice. Running with a crouch to avoid falling over, and slamming into each other.
Instead of winter, we have a monsoon season. Continuous rain, day after day, week after week.
Here, the Aire Valley does its job as a flood plain, with vast tracts under water, in places several feet deep. I know that’s what it’s supposed to do but we could do with a bit more plain and a little less flood. Only the mysterious flocks of gulls that appear with the inundation, and disappear when the water does, like this almost-tropical weather.
On the allotment, nothing stirs except a few weeds, but in my backyard the heather is blooming and the magnolia tree sprouted buds within hours of the leaves falling.
Stormy gales wash walrus and seals ashore as urgent warnings for SNOW issued
Nature doesn’t seem to know how to handle the weather, which makes two of us. The mercury fell over the weekend, but not cold enough for snow. There wasn’t o’ermuch festivity in our household over the holiday.
Mrs R and I had the winter bug, and brother John, 85, couldn’t come for Christmas dinner for fear of catching the thing. As it says on the tin, Life Goes On all right, but sometimes it’s more of a struggle than is entirely necessary.
Still, here we are, in 2024. Another year to get into all sorts of happy bother.