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Monday 21st, 32-36F, dark grey cloud with an inch of snow lying this morning. The roads were very wet but had been salted. To form long, slush dams so that the traffic could throw up a cometary plume of spray. I retreated to the back of the verge with each vehicle passing. It all helps to spread the salt around for rapid snow removal.
The low, misty cloud was being rapidly swept away by a cold south-westerly. Leaving the sun clear to break though. The Head Gardener suggested that it would be a poor day for an outing and I had to reluctantly agree.
Tuesday 22nd 32F, cold, dark grey and very misty. I have to go out or we shall almost certainly starve at Chez Hovel. Local cats are beginning to look quite tasty for a quick fry up. The dogs know us all too well and always keep a wide berth. The last of the furniture has been split for kindling. I have cleared the last of the snow, at tongue point, just to get warm.
We have no family silver to exchange for a decent Nouvelle Cuisine, organic, Supersize, nosh up at the local McSlob's. The nearest soup kitchen might as well be on the Far Side of The Moon. Cabin fever has already set in and The Head Gardener is getting distinctly "uppity!" Where will it all end? I'd better start with a short walk and work my way up from there. I wonder who legally owns all that potential firewood in the roadside hedges?
No walk but I was allowed out by the tradesman's entrance to collect firewood. Only just in the nick of time too. As our kindling reserves were down to sawdust, potential splinters and wishful thinking.
I bartered some plastic waste for a few items of nourishment and returned to the fold. A number of birds of prey had given me a filthy look as I passed in the car. No doubt thinking the twin horrors of my emaciation and mobile imprisonment would curtail any chance of a light snack at my expense. It's all tooth and claw, in Viking Country, where meals on wheels is concerned!
Tuesday 22nd 32F, cold, dark grey and very misty. I have to go out or we shall almost certainly starve at Chez Hovel. Local cats are beginning to look quite tasty for a quick fry up. The dogs know us all too well and always keep a wide berth. The last of the furniture has been split for kindling. I have cleared the last of the snow, at tongue point, just to get warm.
We have no family silver to exchange for a decent Nouvelle Cuisine, organic, Supersize, nosh up at the local McSlob's. The nearest soup kitchen might as well be on the Far Side of The Moon. Cabin fever has already set in and The Head Gardener is getting distinctly "uppity!" Where will it all end? I'd better start with a short walk and work my way up from there. I wonder who legally owns all that potential firewood in the roadside hedges?No walk but I was allowed out by the tradesman's entrance to collect firewood. Only just in the nick of time too. As our kindling reserves were down to sawdust, potential splinters and wishful thinking.
I bartered some plastic waste for a few items of nourishment and returned to the fold. A number of birds of prey had given me a filthy look as I passed in the car. No doubt thinking the twin horrors of my emaciation and mobile imprisonment would curtail any chance of a light snack at my expense. It's all tooth and claw, in Viking Country, where meals on wheels is concerned!
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