The 20m/s [45mph] easterly gales are set to continue for the third day in a row. The sky is now a uniform grey overcast. I was just reading about a potential tipping point in the Gulf Stream as warm water builds up in the Arctic. Thereby blocking the normal, thermal sink.
Abandon hope all ye who enter here! If Europe gets an ice age the asylum seekers will all be back on the next plane home to get warm again. I bet they won't let us into their home countries, as climate change migrants, as easily as we let them into "ours."
A good thing too! We made this climate mess. While simultaneously robbing them of their natural resources, with menaces. Of course we squandered it all because it has been so damned cheap to pay a single, despotic 'fence' instead of raising living standards for all. Everything has to be paid for, in full, in the end. There is never a free lunch which doesn't come back to bite you hard, eventually.
Now we're paying for it in non-contributory, lifetime, social security, lifetime health care and equally vast anti-terrorism expenses and spiraling loss of personal and public freedoms. Live with it! You caused it by complaining about the price of petrol for your gas guzzling, people carrier and 'luxury' saloon.
The vile Nazis hardly measure up to the colossal loss of life and freedom around the globe just to keep the oil and toys flowing. Just so you could drive 100 yards to the corner shop, or mall, to buy some other slave-made goods to go with your nice cup of tea, plastic wrapped coffee or takeaway. While wearing your latest, dirt cheap 'designer label' clothing and trainers. All rammed through the rollers of slave-based, global trade by sadistic sociopaths with 'offshore' taxes, mountains of tasteless bling and an unquenchable demand for innocent victims.
Saturday 17th 23-29F, -5-1C, easterly gales and sunshine with cloud building rapidly from overnight clear skies. I'm off for a [not] nice little bit of S&M with my Ecco boots. My face is as red as a GPO pillar box from spending hours outside in yesterday's gales at -1C. With hardly a full five seconds of sunshine to its name. Bitterly cold on my hands when I removed my gloves for photography. Cold on my face too despite the balaclava and my double fleece hat pulled well down. It's blowing harder than ever now with more and more cloud. My boots were just as awful as their first trial. So I curtailed my walk to limp another day. I shopped for heavy stuff in the car as the wind roared for the third day in a row.
Sunday 18th 25F, -4C, overcast, windy with snow flurries. Gusts are supposed to have dropped from 20m/s to about 13m/s. Possible threat of sunshine later. We'll see, when the snow stops falling. I may be suffering from undiagnosed hypothermia because I'm getting clumsy and forgetful. Or åperhaps it's something in the water?
Denmark gets all its drinking water from deep bore holes. Now these are having to be abandoned in droves after decades of pouring pesticides onto the land. In the absence of ass's milk I suppose it's another excuse to give up winter bathing. The bathroom is below zero anyway and the black slime on the walls has turned to catching insects for protein. It's lucky we have no pets! Pass the bottled water, please? I seem to have a chronic deficit of plastic in my diet.
Well, I'm back from my first winter attempt to reach the village in new Ecco boots unsupported by a backup team or even an official GBR observer. I had resolutely refused to wear odd coloured socks just to gain a new <cough> 2018 GuinessWorldRecord. So they had told the newspapers I had abandoned my attempt. Not even a hovering helicopter, with emergency medical staff and copious supplies of blood, bothered to trail behind my faltering gait.
A small gaggle of international "Outdoor Wear" journalists had to make do with their UHD4K60FPS "wearable" wrist monitors to watch me though their whining, UHD4k60FPS drone cameras diving and ducking overhead. As I staggered, ever onwards, step by agonizing step. As blood oozed to the top of my boots to run down the oh-so-recently pristine, yak leather. I glanced back to see I had etched a weaving, comic-tragic trail of pointless, human devastation in the thin layer of freshly fallen snow.
It was a Sunday, after all, so my torment seemed somehow, hideously appropriate. Not that the solitary churchgoer cared as they roared into the knee-deep, church car park gravel in an immaculate, metallic gold, Volvo, people carrier, without indicating. Perhaps it was just the bishop come to check the takings to see if he could upgrade from his late, last year's model?