Seasons are a funny thing. I've been stomping around this planet for forty-six years now, most of that time in the same country. And yet the changing of the seasons still catches me on the hop now and again. This week is a case in point. The first half was wet and humid. The low, dense cloud base meant it was quite warm, which confused my brain stem into thinking it might still be summer. The rain cleared overnight and this morning was appreciably colder as a result. And as I type, at 5pm, the light already looks weak and wan to me although objectively it must actually be brighter than it was at this time yesterday evening. This mental dissonance can only be due to Mr Brain finally accepting that summer is over. I crave root vegetables and sleep. It's time to hunker down, baby.
Unfortunately I can't curl up and slumber for a while. I've got lots on - all jolly stuff though. I'm off to Ireland for a work meeting in a couple of weeks; I've used the opportunity to take a couple of days off and drive down to my parents' place, which is in the west of Ireland. I get back to London from there late on a Thursday evening. Then it's back to work on Friday and off to Iceland on the Saturday morning. I've gone from doing virtually nothing in my spare time to resembling a low-rent Liz Taylor, jetting hither and yon.
That reminds me - I must get some Mogadon for the flight. And some gin.
No comments:
Post a Comment