Today's post really is sent to you from the blustery North. The past two days have been cold, wet and windy.
My parents just returned from a long weekend in Whitby which by all accounts was surprisingly sunny and reasonably warm. Having spoken to both of them on their return, we complained about how awful the weather in these parts is at the moment.
But actually, I like this kind of weather. Maybe it's because I'm still getting used to it after that searingly hot summer. More likely is the fact that I do like it. Even the staying indoors doing housework part of it. I've made a big pan of soup, read to Joe and (when he has a nap) knitted like crazy. I've enjoyed the fresh smell when I open the kitchen door and the upstairs windows, and I've watched the wind whipping the trees about.
I follow Very British Problems on Twitter ('Spending the entire evening debating whether or not to put the heating on' and 'Saying "It's definitely getting chillier" upwards of fifty times a day'), and we all know that talking about the weather is very British. Complaining about it is also a national pastime. But in reality I like wellies and umbrellas and puddles. A true pluviophile (as mentioned in an earlier post).
Having said that, the forecast for tomorrow says it'll be dry so I'm going out for a walk before cabin fever sets in.