Sparks

Ah. This will be New Year, then - my first few official Writery Working Days disappearing in a welter of emergencies, backlogged jobs which now decide that they are urgent, and being unable to find things for Lo, they are On The Desk. I did manage a couple of articles to support the book, but none of the jobs that I am bursting to get on with. No matter.

Earthenwitch has started the New Year in much better style than me, with an abrupt cessation of her water supply which can only mean frozen (and no doubt burst, come the thaw) pipes somewhere, a mouse trapped somewhere under the living room carpet, and flu to boot. All I've been able to muster in the disaster department is an electrical nearly-fire resulting in loss of power to the kitchen. Mental note to self: smell of dead fish = slowly cooking insulation. Hardly in the same league though, is it?

The garden remains untouched due to being frozen solid*, an event unheard of in Dorset - where the sea froze for the first time in decades and a large gentleman nearly croaked trying to rescue his dog when it fell through the ice. Here in Blighty we're simply not used to real cold; two inches of snow and everything grinds to a halt. Roads, rail, you name it - we're not ready for it. This is utterly pathetic, but not as pathetic as the observation that we act as surprised as hell every year. One of my favourite annual news events is watching the media frenzy when it snows in the southeast (where all the BBC execs live) - 'snow chaos hits thousands' - whereas snow anywhere else is interesting - but it's hardly news, is it?


*The polytunnel, on the other hand, remains untouched due to laziness. It's on my list, okay?