Climate change

In these days of preoccupation with climate change and global warming, I received the following in an email today, which may be useful.

Cold is a relative term. Use the handy list below to overcome the confusion:
Degrees (Fahrenheit)
65
- Hawaiians declare a two-blanket night
60
- Californians put on sweaters (if they can find one)
50
- Miami residents turn on the heat
45
- Vermont residents go to outdoor concerts
40
- You can see your breath
- Californians shiver uncontrollably
- Minnesotans go swimming
35
- Italian cars don't start
32
- Water freezes
30
- You plan your vacation to Australia
25
- Ohio water freezes
- Californians weep pitiably
- Minnesotans eat ice cream
- Canadians go swimming
20
- Politicians begin to talk about the homeless
- New York City water freezes
- Miami residents plan vacation further South
15
- French cars don't start
- Cat insists on sleeping in your bed with you
10
- You need jumper cables to get the car going
5
- American cars don't start
0
- Alaskans put on T-shirts
-10
- German cars don't start
- Eyes freeze shut when you blink
-15
- You can cut your breath and use it to build an igloo
- Arkansans stick tongue on metal objects
- Miami residents cease to exist
-20
- Cat insists on sleeping in pyjamas with you
- Politicians actually do something about the homeless
- Minnesotans shovel snow off roof
- Japanese cars don't start
-25
- Too cold to think
- You need jumper cables to get the driver going
-30
- You plan a two week hot bath
- Swedish cars don't start
-40
- Californians disappear
- Minnesotans button top button
- Canadians put on sweaters
- Your car helps you plan your trip South
-50
- Congressional hot air freezes
- Russian cars don't start
- Alaskans close the bathroom window
-80
- Hell freezes over
- Polar bears move South
-90
- Lawyers put their hands in their own pockets.
NB. Those British readers who don't remember the days when we measured temperatures in farenheit may need to find a conversion chart. Apologies for any inconvenience. :)

A woman for all seasons

As seasons roll by (with every-increasing speed, the older I get), I reflect now and again that I really should make a conscious effort to appreciate the aspects peculiar to each one. If I could choose, I would like it to be late spring/early summer all the time and I would also like not to have to endure the long nights and short days which are an inescapable part of each winter. Try as I might, I have never been able to identify with those of my fellow bloggers who delight so much in the advent of snow. For me, it looks pretty for an hour or so early in the morning and after that it's a major nuisance and I can't wait for it to be gone. I still have vivid memories of the winter of 1963 (ish) when there was snow on the ground all through winter and well into April. Mind you, there was one enormous advantage, as I recall. For weeks there was no sport on Saturday afternoon television as conditions were too bad for anyone to play, so in that era of a choice between BBC and ITV, we were treated to films instead - much more interesting!
An yway, back to the 'Winter Appreciation Society'.
Unfortunately, I think the inauguration of said society may need to be postponed until next year. After all, who in their right mind could possibly feel positive about endless days of grey skies and rain?
No, sorry, I just can't do the Pollyanna thing right now.
I need to emigrate to sunnier climes - and fast!

A cold and frosty morning

It was indeed cold and frosty this morning when I took Paddy out for his walk but what a lovely change from the never-ending rain and leaden grey skies which we have endured for most of November.
Here's hoping December is going to be an improvement - but let's not hold our breath!

X Factor addiction

I must confess to having sneaked more than a few peeks at 'The X-Factor' this year, mainly as a protest, ie NOT watching BBC's 'Strictly Come Dancing' because of their ageist and sexist behaviour in sacking Arlene Phillips and Karen Hardy! However, now that those two annoying brats, commonly known as Jedward have finally been voted off, my interest has waned.
Fortunately, X-Factor did not affect me to this extent.
Note to self:  Make a conscious effort not to watch rubbish.
I obviously had a lucky escape.

Bohemian Rhapsody with a twist

I got an email this evening from Keith with a link to this.
 

Actually, we usually just talk to each other, rather than emailing, although it has been known for emails to fly across the living room from his desktop to my laptop, but today I'm in Bristol and he is still at home, hence the email, preceded by a phone call to tell me to look for it in my inbox.
You see, life can get quite complicated at times

Christmas shopping

My Christmases as a child,  seem always to have been magical and the weeks beforehand with their mounting crescendo of excitement were almost as exciting as the big day itself. I have vivid memories of producing yards of paper chains from coloured strips of paper bought in the local newsagents, the Christmas tree bought one year and carefully planted out in the garden before being brought in for the following festive season, the shiny glass baubles - and woe betide if any of them got broken and of course, the fairy, resplendent in crepe paper and tinsel.
Fast forward to my children's early years. The best Christmases are when  there are children around who believe in Santa, but then, of course, you have to stay up half the night waiting for them to go to sleep before creeping into their bedrooms with pillow-cases full of presents. Staying awake until the early hours as an overworked mother is made all the more difficult if you have previously eaten the mince pie and drunk the glass of sherry left out for Santa  (I drew the line as eating Rudolph's carrot as well) and on many of those Christmas days, my dearest wish, after about two hours sleep during the night, was to disappear back to bed for the afternoon to catch up on some zeds, but of course, I never could.
Of my four children, Hugh was the one who took Christmas present list writing the most seriously, usually beginning in October but occasionally, even earlier. Lengthy discussions would ensue over what were or were not considered reasonable requests. Then, of course, the children all got older and harder to buy for, although Hugh was always fairly easy as he was a prolific reader and a gift of books was always welcome.
When I asked him this summer, what he would like for his birthday, he couldn't think of anything to suggest and I didn't press it, thinking I would have plenty of time to look for something nearer the time.
These days, as I wander round the shops looking for presents to buy, the things that catch my attention are invariably just what I would buy for him  - if I still could.

The Ancestral Pile - almost

Cast your eyes on this item of news online yesterday. Notice especially the description of the dwelling, including the thirty-five rooms and allow your gaze to linger on the photo, curtesy of the Telegraph.

The other detail I would like you to note is the fact that this house once belonged to 'the Amery family' because thereby hangs a tale.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. (Please note, you need to be of a certain age to appreciate that last invitation.)
A few generations ago, Sir John Amery, baronet, lived there with his family, one of whom was a daughter, of whom I am a direct descendant. So, I hear you ask, why is Jenny not now living in this handsome mansion, instead of a bunch of squatters? Sadly, the lady in question let her heart rule her head, ran off with a builder, who was working on the house at the time, and was promptly disowned by her irate father.
So near and yet so far....