As we sit back after Christmas Day wondering whether it had really been wise to use that recipe for sweet and sour turkey garnered from the internet we see pictures of the wild weather outside our windows….in our case high winds that nearly lifted the roof from the new house; in the case of Britain, snow making roads impassable, airports closed – and no ferries on the Dover to Calais route.
Continent isolated again.
A new year lies ahead of us, but amongst all the worries about Russia’s economy, the U.K. fiddling its economic figures and whether the labrador presented to President Hollande by some misguided French Canadians will fulfil the promise of its official photograph – where it shows the whites of its eyes in no uncertain manner – and provide yet another juicy way for a French President to die in office, there is one certainty.
We will have weather.
Just as well…whatever would the British find to talk about otherwise?
The U.K. fiddling its economic figures?
You might know the old rhyme about the months of the year:
January brings the snow,
Makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes sharp and shrill,
Shakes the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.
May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.
June brings tulips, lillies, roses,
Fills the children’s hands with posies.
Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots and gillyflowers.
August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne.
Warm September brings the fruit,
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
Brown October brings the pheasant,
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves go whirling past.
Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire and Christmas treat.
That version is not exactly how I remember it, but it’s as near as damnit.
This, however, is a much more accurate depiction of my memories of the weather in England in my youth:
I shall go out now and knock down a few coconuts to put in the fridge for a cold drink this evening.
Feel free to hurl whatever you wish…leftover sprouts or vituperation as the inclination takes you.