It would seem that I am officially obsessed with the weather and it’s doing my head in. I can’t seem to hold a single conversation with anyone without bringing it up – mainly because it’s depressing me so much.
Rather alarmingly, I have started to talk to myself about the weather too, although I would like to reassure you that this is not the first sign of madness I have displayed. Last night, driving home from London Aunt’s with the rain pelting down, I found myself giving a running commentary on the puddles, the flooding and the crazy bad-weather driving that was occurring up ahead… to who? God knows, but I must have looked totally barmy.
When I was about 7 years old I fell for that old trick of someone telling you that if you had hairy palms you were mad, so I inspected mine closely, and then BAM – I had a sore nose as someone smacked my hand into my face. It hurt, and I was upset – but I went off and, with glee and no guilt, found someone as gullible as me to try it out on. Kids are weird aren’t they?
But anyway, back to the weather – what is going on? Last week I was fantasising about winter food and this weekend I was thinking about buying thick woolly cardigans – it’s all wrong.
And, it would seem that all my London Friends share this view. Shakira-Shakira has escaped to Turkey for some beach hip-shaking fun, with The Writer set to join her next week. Fab Friend leaves for Peru tomorrow for some guaranteed heat – although Machu Whatsit might by a bit chilly as it’s very high up. NikNak has Country Boy to keep her warm, The Photographer is living it up in Sweden and Friend-Who-Knows-Big-Words is off to France…
As for me – well I have Paris to look forward to and in the meantime, I am going to my Rent’s house. I don’t need a passport to get there, nor is the weather forecast any more optimistic than the one in London… but there’s an open fire, plenty of home-cooked food on offer and a big Ma-hug waiting for me. What could be better than that?
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