People have recently complaining about the weather – noting how it tailed off from the end of September and gradually worsened, the poor weather peaking in January and February before a recent thawing in conditions*. While Mr Gove is reducing school holidays and prescribing a curriculum based on a 22-hour teaching day he might do well to ensure knowing the cyclical nature of weather conditions are taught to children. We certainly seem to have a nation of fucking idiots if the idea of winter is shocking some people.
Today however saw some respite for those people affronted by weather conditions typical of Britain in winter. It was sunny – and quite warm. For a few hours.
On brief forays into the general public I was met with sights of masses of people in gardens, parks and the beer gardens of public houses. Clearly people were revelling in this warm weather. And why not? For all they know – and we have established it is little – what are the chances of this improved weather repeating itself over the coming months? Practically nil.
[I was OK to be out in it, by the way, I was at someone’s house who had planned a gathering independent of the fine weather. And I also know about the seasons and stuff so, as much as I was happy to see it sunny and stand in the back garden, I am confident these conditions will recur on a semi-regular basis over the coming months. Perhaps increasing in frequency July and August. Just a hunch.]
My friends’ daughter had the most tremendous fox on her top. It struck me that there are several things I see children wearing of that I am jealous. It struck me as rather a whizzer of an idea that someone should set up a company making adult-sized versions of clothes people have bought for children. However, in retrospect it is a market probably insufficient in size to make the business feasible.
The highlight of my day was, however, not the weather. I had an exchange of SMS messages about the serial killer Harold Shipman that, frankly, delighted me. It concerned how he deserves more celebration; how he must have had a positive effect on the housing market in Tameside for a while; the dearth of a statue in his honour and how he was a decent serial killer – killing the elderly rather than children like the monsters Hindley & Brady. It really was lovely stuff.
It occurs to me that you don’t get many Myras knocking about. I don’t think it was too popular a name but even so you’d think that the passage of time would see it making a comeback. The name Ian certainly wasn’t affected. Which is bloody typical of the patriarchy of post-serial-killer name trends.
*This isn’t even me being flippant – there was something being retweeted about ‘today’, which was April 10th or something, being the warmest day since the start of October. People were suitably fuming at the weather.