In the Bleak Midwinter

I love it! But then it's alright for me, I don't have to go to work or wait for a bus. I can stay snug and warm inside, or wrap up in multiple layers and go out. Here are the fairies in our back garden 'struggling' through the snow.

Here's the view from the study where we sit far too frequently and wade through various online tasks. Mostly enjoyable from my point of view. This morning I worked my way through a pile of papers from my in-tray. I feel I should have a pile marked Chuck When I'm Gone because there are things that are totally useless to anyone else but I don't want to get rid of, yet. And no, I'm not being morbid, just realistic, as one of my favourite broadcasters, John Cushnie, died last week at a mere four years older than I. He was the wit that made radio gardening programmes enjoyable, even bearable. His picture came as a surprise; we thought he was a small, elderly fellow. His was the best Northern Irish accent on the airwaves.

And here, from the front window are the school children enjoying the fun. The misty background is actual, as if more snow is waiting to fall. Last night I walked down the village in the dark, eerily quiet, rather like being back in time, snow crunchy like the top of a Christmas cake, to our monthly book group. We discussed The Colour by Rose Tremain which was excellently written but had nothing to endear me to the characters except admiration for their grit. Strangely it mentioned Rangiora in New Zealand, a place I've had much to think about recently, having been 'discovered' by a cousin, more strictly kinsman, from there whose ancestors came from this village and were my ancestors too.