Much

Call this summer? Call this August? Wind and rain and autumn temperatures, that's what we're getting just now. Rubbish, this is. Them apples are blowing off the tree, blooming 'edge'og nearly got concussed. Is it always this cold up 'ere, I asked 'er? Not necessarily, she says, we're just 'aving a cold August, she says, pity about that. Then 'er starts on about when 'er was a girl living on the north-east coast and learning to swim in the North Sea, and 'ow the tide always brought the mist in with it. Didn't make 'er tough, though, did it? One cold breeze and 'er's indoors with the fire on. Never mind, there's plenty of vegetation around to keep me warm, if I felt the cold, which I don't.

'Er's got a frozen shoulder. Not blooming surprised, I said, this weather. But it means her shoulder don't move like it should. She's seeing some Irish woman called Fizzy O'Terrapin or Terrorpist or summat, to get it going again. what's the matter with a bit of WD40? 'Er is at a great disadvantage if 'er needs to reach up high, which was a bit dicey as the curtains needed 'anging up again. They still look a bit skew-wiff to me but at least 'er can open 'em now without anything falling off the rail. Including 'er.

There's owls round 'ere. Wise old owls, they call 'em. Wise? Too stupid to go to bed at night. Middle of the night they're all hoo-hooing, making a racket and looking for their dinner. Any field mouse could hear 'em a mile off. For a sensible animal, give me a snail any day. Quiet, slow, and goes to sleep all winter. If it goes on like this, me snail may as well settle down for a kip next week.