Let’s not talk about Brexit. It gets the old blood pressure soaring and it might offend the precious darlings who voted to take control of our affairs, stop those nasty foreigners taking all our jobs and make the NHS richer by £350 million a week. The fools. But not only the voters but the sanctimonious politicians who witter on, claiming that the British people have spoken and their will must be obeyed. As for the negotiators on both sides, they’re enjoying their moment in the spotlight, spinning the drama out for as long as possible. For crying out loud, isn’t it blindingly obvious that the whole thing is a disastrous mistake. Let’s admit it and have another vote. Better still, let’s not talk about Brexit.
What about the Beast from the East though? Here in Westdean it’s just been a spot of normal winter weather. Nothing to get aerated about. A sprinkling of snow, a chilly wind and a few days of being confined to indoor jobs. I suppose it’s the effect of the sea combined with the shelter that the coastline gives us from the worst of the wind and the fact that the village is in a shallow valley in the downs. So apart from having to walk the morose dog every day and Rosie venturing outside to feed the birds and check the greenhouse temperature we’ve been happily housebound…I’ve been glued to my computer and scanner and Rosie’s been practising her oil painting skills. Thank goodness for central heating and wood burning stoves (though we’ve learnt to our cost that double glazing shatters if there’s too much heat inside when it’s very cold outside).
One thing this cold weather has done is put a stop to the premature spring. Last week the blackbirds were nest building, the snowdrops were flourishing and the daffs nodding happily…now the tits are blue with cold and the flowers have gone to bed. And inside, it’s time for a nice cup of tea. How do you take it Boris and Michel…with milk and strychnine?