ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
Months are an arbitrary thing, named by mankind. Why, then, does it seem so much stranger to be walking to work in a t-shirt and sandals, and feeling too hot while doing so, on the first of October than on the last day of September? I'm not complaining, but it doesn't seem quite right - and it makes me very confused that, despite the heat of the day, it's all pitchy dark so early in the evening.

I do remember travelling home over Dartmoor early in October a few years ago, and it being so hot that the car parks were overflowing with people who had driven out in order to spill out of their car and lie sunbathing on the roadside. (Odd behaviour, I thought, but each to their own.) IIRC, that September had been fairly grumpy and autumnal, before summer returned in a brief blaze of glory in October. That was the same winter that saw us eating tapas outside in Pompey in mid March, sweltering in heat that was more like June. It then proceeded to start raining in April, and not stop until August. (This was the Olympic year.)

Some leaves are beginning to look autumnal and fall off, but not many. Our local blackberries started to peak in July, and are long past it, but I've found pockets of tasty-looking blackberries up until a few weeks ago. They all look sad now, though, but, then, English folklore does have it that they're all blighted and horrid after September 29th.

EDIT: Okay, this is just wrong. I just popped out for a stroll, and it's not just "surprisingly warm for this time of year," it's, "Phew! It's HOT!" I'm wearing midsummer clothes, and I'm boiling.


Apr. 11th, 2014 12:51 pm
ladyofastolat: (sneezing lion)
How goes the progress of spring in various parts of the country? I'm always curious to compare, and am constantly surprised anew by the differences that only a hundred miles of northiness can make. I also want to record these things so I can compare things next year.

Our daffodils are all gone now. The bluebells are now out, but haven't been out for long, and are not yet in their full plenteousness. Lots of wood anemones. Primroses are still flourishing, as they have done for a while, and there are violets anywhere. I don't think I've seen a crocus for a while, though.


Apr. 1st, 2014 12:46 pm
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
This morning was foggy. This morning was so foggy that I could barely see next door. It was even more foggy up on the Downs road, where road signs were invisible, the car in front was a vague ghost, and side roads remained vague rumours until you were right on top of them.

Why, then, do so many people driving in these conditions fail to put their lights on? I can better understand those who charge along far too fast in the fog without their lights on; they are making no concession at all to the fog, so although stupid, are at least consistent. But the roads today were full of people limping gingerly along at half their normal speed, their barely-glimpsed ghost-like faces giving the impression of desperate peeriness, yet were still driving with no lights. Grr!
ladyofastolat: (Vectis)
Today I found myself with an hour to kill on the south coast, in between storytimes, so stopped en route to look at some of the changes the recent weather has wrought. I couldn't get to the big things: the big cliff falls, the collapsed sea walls, and, worst of all, the stretch of main road - full of houses - that has half disappeared. But I did get a few pictures of the somewhat less drastic things: )
ladyofastolat: (Winter is coming)
I've just been checking the local newspaper's compilation of local travel related tweets, in order to find out if the route we plan to drive later is still closed by floods and/or landslides. I came across this nice encouraging tweet from the police:

"It's still bad and you WILL get stuck."

Looking at their earlier tweets, I see that they're being driven mad by idiots ignoring ROAD CLOSED signs, or even removing them, and proceeding to get stuck in flood water or large holes. Yesterday was a constant litany of "Look, don't do it!" warnings, getting ever more desperate. But I prefer it out of context, as a nice little warning telling us that DOOM is inevitable if we as much as leave our own front door.

However, I am now wondering if any other doom-laden statements actually have a more specific context that history has not remembered:

@Cassandra: Doomed! Doomed! We're all doomed!
@Cassandra: As long as I don't roll a 1, the party should get out of this alive... #D&D

@Millennialist: The end is nigh!
@Millennialist: Will this movie ever end? #TitanicDirectorsCut

@NedStark: Winter is coming!
@SansaStark: Daddy's getting me a baby kitten! She's so CUTE! I think I'll call her Winter, Winnie for short.

Travel news

Jan. 3rd, 2014 01:05 pm
ladyofastolat: (Vectis)
Checking the local paper's website for the latest news on storms/floods/storm surges/WE'RE ALL DOOMED! I see that the latest travel-related announcement is this:

"There is a lot of cauliflower on the road in Canteen Road, Whitely Bank. Please drive carefully."

Oh no! We really are doomed!

EDIT: Updated news: "After the earlier cauliflowers, we've now had reports of lots of sheep on the road. We are trying to locate the owner."


Oct. 20th, 2013 02:33 pm
ladyofastolat: (sneezing lion)
We were out dancing today in what our Squire promised us was a "two hour weather window," only for the window to be slammed firmly shut one hour in, complete with thunder, lightning and the most torrential rain imaginable. It was the sort of rain that drenches you even to your underwear within half a minute. As I was driving home, peering desperately through the barely-penetrable downpour, I saw a man out walking his spaniel. The spaniel insisted on stopping every few feet to give itself a vigorous shake. The owner wore neither coat nor umbrella, and looked as sodden as a lesser sea god emerging from the waves, but had clearly resigned himself to stopping every few steps to indulge his dog's futile gesture. I'm not sure who was more foolish, the dog or the owner. It all felt quite English, somehow, especially since it was being observed by a dripping Morris dancer.
ladyofastolat: (unbowed)
I am Confused. I walked about 30 miles yesterday, and while my clothes were rather unpleasantly sodden throughout, it was bearable. Now I've just strolled for 10 minutes in the graveyard, without a rucksack and without two layers of socks on my feet, and I found it far worse. Yes, I'm a mile inland here, whereas yesterday I was on the coast and had a sea breeze, and yes, it does seem to be a few degrees hotter today, but it still seems pretty inconsistent.

I'm always happier to walk in hot weather than I am to sit still in it. I find the idea of sunbathing quite hideous. I'd find it quite unbearable to be part of a crowd of spectators on a hot sunny day. But, while climbing mountains or Morris dancing on a hot day falls solidly in the realms of Too Hot, I'm far more okay with (level) country walking than I would have expected, given that I'm not normally good in the heat. It feels... breezier, although the Garmin that I borrowed last year shows that I average a fairly steady 3.8 miles an hour, and I wouldn't have thought that was enough to provide a cooling breeze. But for whatever the reason, I feel far hotter sitting still in the sunshine than moving in it. Odd.
ladyofastolat: (Winter is coming)
I've never seen such enormous conglomerations of white stuff falling (or, rather, drifting very lazily) from the sky! They're easily two inches across. No mere snow "flakes," these. I think some heavenly dog has been a BadDog with a heavenly eiderdown. If deities have eiderdowns, and I don't see why they shouldn't. Unless heavenly eider ducks are too celestial to shed corporeal feathers. And, come to think of it, heavenly dogs should probably be GoodDog all the time. (Though wouldn't that be a little dull?) But, anyway...

British Summer Time in a few days, of course. :-D
ladyofastolat: (Snowy trees)
The snow outside my window at work is falling vertically... straight upwards. I am now keeping my eye open for a mouse chasing a cat, a cheese eating a rat, and a hare chasing a hound twenty miles above the ground... and I certainly don't dare try dropping an apple, just in case. The End Days are here.


Feb. 1st, 2013 05:06 pm
ladyofastolat: (Vectis)
In the last few days, I've started seeing the first flowers of spring - primroses and teeny daffodils, valiantly contending with the universal quagmire that the world has become. This feels to me All Wrong. Surely the snowdrops ought to come first, but there are no signs of them yet, nor of crocuses. How goes the spring in other parts of the country?
ladyofastolat: (Snowy trees)
The light was failing as I walked home from work, but I did what I could.

Snowy graves and their snowy guardian )


Jul. 20th, 2012 08:29 am
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
It's a scandal! A rogue decorator has come in overnight and painted the ceiling of the world outside my house. It's all blue! BLUE! And they seem to have fitted a huge bright light that's totally ruining the normal subdued grey lighting. Even worse, in the course of all this unauthorised decorating they seem to have entirely broken the sprinkler system! To add insult to injury, they must have nudged the thermostat upon leaving, and didn't have the decency to turn it back! Something Must Be Done!

EDIT: Oh, that's okay, then. When my back was turned, the rogue decorators watchdog must have been in, because the outside ceiling has been returned to its usual shade of muted grey, and the harsh bright light has gone away.


Jul. 6th, 2012 12:21 pm
ladyofastolat: (In comes I)
This weekend, I will be camping in a field quagmire, dancing in a field swamp while wearing clogs wellies, and serving beer in a beer tent floating on the mire.

Aint summer wonderful?
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
We're going camping this weekend! Yay for us! Yup, we're going camping in a field near Salisbury, on the day that some newspaper or other was shouting on its front page about EIGHTY MILE AN HOUR WINDS! and THREE MONTHS OF RAIN IN THREE DAYS! The plan is to have a nice little barbecue outside our tents tomorrow night, to dance around Salisbury on Saturday, then dance in the New Forest on Sunday, while enjoying the scenery, feeding the deer, and having genteel outdoor cream teas. Er... yes.

Quite unrelated to the above, we have recently developed a sudden intense interest in the location of Salisbury B&Bs.

The BBC isn't quite so pessimistic, but I find it hard to concentrate on what the BBC is saying, since they've changed their weather pages and now have cute little clouds that go up and down the page, depending on the temperature.

I came downstairs just now to find the cat sitting in the hall, looking as if dignity was its watchword. However, on the kitchen floor I saw a clear mark of wet prints leading in from the cat flap: paw!paw!paw!paw!PAAAAAW! Sliiiiiidy-sliiiiiidy-PAAAW! SLIIIIIIIIIIDE! Furry bottom! slippityslippityembarassedypause... paw!paw!paw!paw!

And how do they define "three months' rain" anyway? Does it all get packaged up and stored somewhere up there, with labels? Is October currently sulking immensely because June has stolen all the rain right up until the start of November? Who let the rain out?
ladyofastolat: (Default)
With the ferries cancelled or badly delayed, and hideous queues on all the roads around all three ferry ports, and public transport operators all waily and mis-spelled on Twitter, it is easy to forget the plight of the single motorist.

Today I drove to West Wight, site of the 82 mph gust, and managed to reach it, despite the wind holding the opinion that I really wanted to end up in the Solent, and the trees deciding that my car was in desperate need of a little roof decoration made from twigs. Once there, I parked my car and went to buy a ticket. "Display on dashboard on driver's side," it said, so this I did, innocent that I was. Leave ticket on dashboard, begin to close the car door... and watch the ticket whisk away across the dashboard, turn three times around and sink to the bottom of the passenger footwell.

I tried again, this time including the very important stage that I had omitted the previous time: after placing the ticket, I held up an admonitory finger, and said, "Stay!" Sadly, parking tickets, like cats, scorn admonitory fingers. This time it skated across the dashboard and pressed itself up against the windscreen on the passenger side, showing its plain white backside to any passing parking attendent.

I tried again, this time opening the door as little as I could, and standing on one leg, and contorting myself in order to make my body take up as much of the gap as possible, while reaching forward as far as I could. Then I carefully tried to retract myself through the gap like some demented worm. The ticket watched me obediently for a little while, until the door was almost closed and there was much rejoicing, when it executed a neat little flip on the spot, and there we were, back in pale backside territory.

I tried again, this time sitting in the driver's seat and closing the door. The ticket behaved wonderfully. Unfortunately, the process left me on the wrong side of the car door. The solution to this, I decided, was to creep out of the passanger door and hope the ticket didn't notice my sidling. The handbrake decided to get involved in the adventure by trying to eat my skirt. I talked to it sternly. I reached the passenger seat, opened the door, attempted to stand up, got pulled back again by a handbrake that was refusing to yield skirt ownership... and watched the ticket whisk away, turn three times around, and sink to the bottom of the driver's footwell.

I retrieved the ticket and contemplated it. Perhaps I could repeat the previous approach, this time clambering into the back of the car and exiting by the rear door? The handbrake eyed my skirt gleefully, as if daring me to try. The gale tried to tear the ticket from my hand as I thought. "What I need," I realised, "is something to weight the ticket down. Hmm... Coins will do. Not pound coins, in case they tempt passing burglars, and not pennies, because they're too light. 20p, I think."

And thus it was that I left my car in the car park, displaying not just the ticket, but two 20p coins, laid out symmetrically in a way that passersby, if they noticed it at all, doubtless thought was Probably Ritual.

EDIT: I suppose I shouldn't complain, really. Pellinor's somewhere out on the storm-tossed ocean on a much delayed Big Ferry that isn't going anywhere very fast. "The tide turned against the wind," says the ferry company. Do they need arbitration?
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
Yesterday I saw three topless men in Newport town centre. (One bare chest doesn't make a summer, but three...?) Today I saw a woman in a bikini on the tiny ridge of shingle that counts as a beach in Cowes, as well as loads of young girls in swimming costumes. The queues for the ice-cream booths were enormous, and the beach huts were full, surrounded by people basking in the sun. In mid-March. On a seafront lashed by a rather chilly breeze, which had led quite a lot of other people to wrap up in their winter coats.

I'm not sure if the weather's gone strange, or if the people are.


Feb. 11th, 2012 05:26 pm
ladyofastolat: (Winter is coming)
I am feeling quite drained from being so cold all the time. I do like crisp cold weather, especially days like today, which was icy cold but gloriously sunny all day. (It's just a shame I was at work all day, since today would have been great weather for a walk-with-camera.) I like being outside walking briskly in cold weather, but I'm getting fed up of being so cold at home all the time. The heating was off at work today, presumably having been programmed for weekdays only, so I've been getting colder and colder all day, but most evenings, even with the thermostat turned up to 21, I'm sitting there wrapped in numerous layers and a blanket, shivering while Pellinor sits beside me in t-shirt sleeves. It wouldn't be so vexing if I had the compensation of enjoying hot weather, but I feel the heat badly, too, and wilt and droop and whimper in hot summers. Pesky internal thermostat!
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
The weather was very odd earlier today. After a wild morning, everything peaked into a near apocalypse just before midday. We all rushed to the windows to marvel at the rain so heavy and windblown that it was more like a snow blizzard, and to nervously eye the large row of conifers that looked on the point of falling over on top of us. Then, as if someone had pressed the "Off" switch, the rain and the wind disappeared, leaving behind a mildly breezy, sunny day. The local weather station confirms that the wind did indeed pretty much drop off the nothing within an instant.

We're not talking a tropical storm with an eye, just a common or garden British winter storm, which aren't supposed to do things like this. Did anyone else's storm disappear in a similarly magical fashion?
ladyofastolat: (Default)
The weather's odd at the moment. All the visual clues shout SPRING! but it's freezy cold, with morning frosts for the first time since Christmas.

For future reference, I thought I'd monitor spring:

Snowdrops out for ages
Crocuses out for a good few weeks
Small daffodils fully out, almost beginning to look past it
Big daffodils fully out in most places and with thick yellow buds elsewhere
Not seen tulips yet
Hawthorn bushes covered with small green leaves
Woodpeckers been yaffling for weeks, and blackbirds in summer plumage since January
Forsythia started going yellow a few weeks ago and now a blaze of flowers
A tiny number of wallflowers are in flower, but most aren't
ladyofastolat: (gargoyle)
On Christmas Day, my aunt and I headed out before dawn to photograph a Cotswold sunrise in the snow. And icicles. Everywhere there were icicles.

And when I see the ace, I think of what they call frozen water in Cheltenham )
ladyofastolat: (Default)
I'm working tomorrow until midday, and then we're leaving for my parents. Parcel deliveries normally seem to arrive in the early afternoon, so this really leaves just today for the arrival of all the snow-delayed parcels of presents bought online. There are five parcels due. I've had to accept that it is very unlikely that all five will arrive in time for Christmas, but I suppose it's possible. I got an email yesterday saying that one would arrive by courier today, but that's no good, since I'll be out. I'm going to leave a note on the door begging him to redeliver to work, since I really don't want to come home to a note saying, "We'll try again tomorrow," or "We've taken it back to a depot on the mainland."

At least I've already received something for all the people I need to give presents to on Christmas Day. Pellinor hasn't received anything at all, so although I will be able to give on Christmas Day, I might not be receiving anything much at all.

I'm also worrying about whether we'll get to my parents at all. While our snow went on Monday, theirs is very much there, and there's a dirty big hill between them and the Outside World. They're going to try it tentatively today, so I'm hoping that they will report tonight that they are accessible again.

If they can't get out today, Christmas dinner will be a bit messed up, anyway. Not that I mind too much, since the affected parts of the dinner are the vegetables, and the bits that I consider far and away the most important food items in the world - stuffing and sausage/bacon rolls - are already sorted. My Mum did try wading through the snow to the local shop, but they were out of all sensible food. As she scoured the empty shelves for potatoes, a staff member brought out loads of fresh strawberries and tried to persuade my Mum that strawberries could fill any food-related gaps in her shopping list. "You can be surprisingly creative with strawberries," she said helpfully. My Mum decided not to buy any to roast and serve with gravy.
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
Our snow has mostly gone away again today, thanks to non-stop rain. It's all nasty slush now, which will be hideous tomorrow morning if it freezes overnight, but is on balance an improvement. While I do like snow, it's getting close enough now to Christmas travelling time that I would rather be without it.

Yesterday, I noticed a lovely sky with just a few minutes to spare before it vanished. I just had time to throw on a coat and some boots, grab my camera, and skiddy slide around the corner to the recreation ground. The foreground is pretty dull, but the sky was pretty.

Pictures of a sunsetty sky )
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
Having listened to what everyone around me is saying, I propose the following update to a well-known song:

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
More lovely than you could believe
(But without it stopping
My online shopping
From reaching me by Christmas Eve.)

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
(But only if they grit my street
And I'm praying, hopin'
That roads stay open
'Cause I've got people I must meet.)

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
But watching forecasts, full of fear.
'Til the end of Friday, please stay clear
And by Boxing Day, the snow must disappear.
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
I managed to a get a small amount of time out in the snow with my new camera today, although I was limited by the fact that I could only get to places I could walk to from work in half an hour. The light was pretty pathetic all day. Although there were patches of blue sky up above, there was a low fog for most of the day, so the sun seldom penetrated.

Snow in the graveyard )
ladyofastolat: (Default)
Walking home through horrid humidity, beneath a black sky that stubbornly refuses to dosgorge the thunder storm we so badly need, I saw that today is the day that the ants fly. Actually, most of them weren't getting as far as flying, but were blundering into my hair, or staggering across the footpath, apparently oblivious to the existence of these shiny new wings that they appeared on their backs, but it still made me curious about how localised Flying Ant Day is.

[Poll #1597462]


Jun. 25th, 2010 04:59 pm
ladyofastolat: (unbowed)
It should be illegal to build office space in the second floor of a warehouse with a flat metal roof, with barely-opening windows only on one side. Ascending the stairs is like rising into a fiery, airless hell. Even two desktop fans is not enough to make it bearable. Thank goodness for pear cider and ice cubes. [EDIT: Said cider not consumed at work, but after getting home.)

(Also, thank goodness that, unlike Pellinor, I don't have to spend the weekend running around in full armour, and sleeping in a greenhouse-like tent. I'd rather have torrential rain in a tent than full sunlight from dawn.)
ladyofastolat: (Default)
It seems that people come with only two settings. Last week, everyone I saw had their switches firmly switched in the Winter position, and were going around in thick coats and scarves. Today, the majority of people round here have had their switch switched to the Summer position. Despite the chill breeze that is blowing through this sunny April day, I saw half a dozen young men wandering around completely topless, and loads of young women in teeny tiny cotton dresses which were held up with string-like straps that left their arms, backs and shoulder uncovered.

In this modern day and age, I think that Something Should Be Done. People should come with a more complex heat controls, to allow them to react to the slowly changing seasons in a more appropriate fashion. I'm thinking of inventing them. I might call them "clothes."
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
Who has kidnapped spring? What can we do to persuade them to give it back? Yes, admittedly there are a few tiny signs - snowdrops appearing on roadsides, and daffodils beginning to peep out - but they are no more proper spring than a body part sent by a hostage-taker counts as the whole person. Even here in the Deep South, where we've had no snow since mid-January, most mornings are icy, and days are wet and miserable. The local woodpeckers made some token spring-like yaffling a few weeks ago, but have now seen sense and shut up. The grass isn't bothering to grow, and the cats glower briefly at Outside, and then go back to sleep.

What ransom do we need to pay to get the safe return of the missing season?


Jan. 14th, 2010 09:38 am
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
What is yon colour that I saw in my garden this morning, almost equally scattered amongst the old familiar white? I believe that it starts with G, and possibly has a long vowel sound in it somewhere. Grail? Grue? Grebe? *shakes head* No, can't quite get it.

In other news, according to my scales, I've lost 6 pounds in 8 days. Since this is plainly impossible (unless I've had cholera, or something, and I'm fairly sure I'd have noticed that. I did recently read an interesting book about the Broad Street cholera epidemic, but I don't think that counts) it must definitely be due to seriously dodgy scales and experimental error. It won't stop me from feeling smug, though - at least, until the dodgy scales take their revenge and next week tell me that I've put ten pounds on.

Now, if only I could remember what this strange verdant colour is... Not that there was a lot of it on the way to work, since the pavements were their usual familiar treacherous white, and the verges were squelchy brown.

More doom

Jan. 9th, 2010 07:42 pm
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
I've become quite addicted to the Facebook group devoted to sharing news about the current situation on the island. It's full of posts reporting rare sightings of bread and milk in various towns, reports of impassible roads, death-trap pavements, crashed vehicles, burst pipes, heroic milkmen, and bread-deprived children. Latest advice from some expert or other: "Go inside and don't leave your houses."

When the zombie apocalypse comes, Facebook and Twitter will be the places to go. I'm amusing myself by imagining what sort of things would have been posted on the Facebook group "Black Death Watch."

Thanks to several hair-raising slides to various local shops, we now have food for about 5 days, so now that starvation is averted, I'm quite enjoying the excitement of living in an apocalyptic scenario. The only downsides are the cats' refusal to go outside, which has messy and smelly results, and the fact that we've had no post since Tuesday, and I'm particularly anxious to receive two Amazon packages that were dispatched on Monday. I even paid extra for quick delivery on one of them, so keen was I to have it by Wednesday. Grr!


Dec. 21st, 2009 10:29 am
ladyofastolat: (Vectis)
Well, that was very sneaky of whatever evil overlord is controlling our weather. It was very obviously raining, and the roads were very obviously covered with nothing more menacing than rain, so I blithely ventured out, thinking that once again the island had been spared the evil icy grip that had closed on those parts that lie across the water, only to find that it was sheet ice underneath the rain. Fortunately, the hedge around our car park at work was nice and soft and springy when I slid rather unexpectedly slantwise into the parking space, and fortunately none of the burly men from over the road were watching when my feet flew away from me as I was getting out of the car.

Ice always makes me think "Ice. Silence. Ice." I'd kind of assumed it was from the Ancient Mariner, but now I see that, while ice abounds in that pome, that exact quotation doesn't. So now I'm racking my brains to remember where it comes from. My minds still wants to think shipwrecked mariners, and also that it was something learnt aurally, perhaps at school, and not something I read.


Dec. 18th, 2009 08:58 am
ladyofastolat: (Vectis)
Hmph. Our island snow is really quite pathetic - a light dusting, and that's all. Not fair!

Last night, though, was freezing - very cold, and with a fierce, freezing wind. I know this because I had to stand outside in it for two hours, occasionally forcing frozen feet to move into a dance, but mostly watching other sides dancing. The warm pub with its fruit wines was very welcome afterwards. At times like this, I have a fresh appreciation of what it must be like to be a heroic quester trudging through icy lands to slay the Dark Lord. Until magic invents centrally-heated boots, I think I'll stay out of Fantasyland, thank you very much.
ladyofastolat: (Default)
I am very cross with the weather. Very very cross indeed. Something Should Be Done. (Anyone know any Evil Overlords with tame weather-controlling doomsday devices?) I think I'm going to withdraw my custom from the British summer, and then they'll be sorry.

You see, for the last two years, we've had June holidays in Scotland, and have got very wet indeed. This year - tomorrow, to be exact - we have a June holiday in the Peak District, and what happens? Glorious weather for the entire week before we go... and a week of rain forecast for the time we're there. We've rented a cottage with lovely views over Monsal Dale, and with lots of walks from the doorstep, so rain will be particularly annoying. Also, at present, the best guess that the long-range forecast can come up with is that the weather will get nice again just after we leave. Grr!

Anyway, here are some pics of my lunch-time haunt in actual nice weather.

Summery pics )
ladyofastolat: (Misty Glastonbury)
It rains. It rains. It rains. And then it rains some more.

The trouble is: the Bestival - big, outdoor pop festival, that takes place in a country park, with the campsite nicely at the bottom of a hill - is happening this weekend. Pellinor's sister stayed with us early in the week, en route to it, and we're Morris dancing at it tomorrow. I would be very surprised if the entire site hasn't dissolved into a total sea of mud. Actually, I would have had to dance there today, too, but had to work instead. Only one library got flooded overnight. "Those poor Bestival goers," said every soggy library customer who manage to make it through the rains.

Oh, and the snail portal is back with a vengeance. Last night, carefully picking our way round a few millions of them, en route to the corner shop, we even found a slug court - a perfect circle of slugs all sternly surveying the snail caught in their midst. On the way back, though, it had all degenerated into a group slughug, or perhaps orgy.

Too Hot

Jul. 28th, 2008 05:13 pm
ladyofastolat: (unbowed)
Life is Too Hot.

Yesterday was Too Hot to spend an hour Morris dancing. Yesterday was definitely Too Hot to spend a few hours doing four-in-a-sack races, welly wanging, five-on-a-plank races, egg and spoon races etc. with a bunch of Morris dancers. It also Too Hot to stand and watch such things (and Kind Of Embarrassing when a Certain Person wanged a welly very fast in totally the wrong direction, scattering innocent sunbathers and squashing their picnic.

Today was Too Hot to work.

This evening, I suspect, will be Too Hot to spend the time on the computer, but is that going to stop me? Doubt it. Not until 7.30, at least, when it's time to leave for more Morris dancing, which takes us back of paragraph 2.

(icon chosen because it has a sun in it. Remove all the uns.)
ladyofastolat: (Default)
It's quite unsettling when the workmen you were expecting to turn up at 8.30 appear not much after 7.30. At least I was dressed, though had it not been so unfeasibly hot, I'd probably have been still in my dressing gown. "Oh, we'll need all this stuff moved before we can work," they said grimly. "I know," I said, polite, but through gritted teeth. "If you hadn't turned up an hour early, it would have been moved in time."

Actually, it's quite unsettling to have workmen turn up at all, when, until yesterday, you'd thought they weren't starting until Tuesday, and had thus arranged your day off (in lieu of Saturday) for Monday, expecting a nice quiet day of writing. I finished a fanfic about ten days ago (a historical AU complete with pictures and folk songs) which was far away the most enjoyable writing experience I've ever had, and has also gained me the most ecstatic feedback I've ever had. I was feeling quite flat early last week, fearing it would never get as good again, but I do now have an idea I was looking forward to doing some more planning on today, and perhaps even taking a stab at a first scene. However, writing never works when I'm in the wrong mood, and I think that having workmen stomping around just yards away will prove too distracting. (Although perhaps in this I'll actually be helped by the fact that I've been deaf in the left ear for the last five days. Must make an appointment about that...)

They're here to fix the shower in the en suite, which has leaked so much in the past that the wall beside it has gone rotten; pretty much the whole en suite needs rebuilding. They're also re-tiling the kitchen floor, and tiling the hall, where the carpet's been badly catted. "You do realise you won't be able to walk on the kitchen floor for 24 hours after we do it," they say. "Oh. Er. Yes. Yes, of course," I say brightly, having totally failed to realise such a thing when I bought a week's load of dinners that require the involvement of an oven. Not that an oven is a particularly good thing, what with the aforementioned unfeasible heat. I've been Far Too Hot to sleep for several nights, and it's only May...
ladyofastolat: (Hear me roar)
What part of "factor 60" does that sun not understand? Can't it read?


ladyofastolat: (Default)

September 2017

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