Cold, dismal, grey and very wet. That sums up today in five words. I rarely have the central heating on all day - maybe two hours when I get up, another two early afternoon and then on again at around five for the evening. Today I have kept it on twenty all day - it is far too horrible a day to switch it off. Tess went out in the back garden at eight this morning for her toilet arrangements (I hope) and has not been out since. When I open the door to suggest going out she gets back in her bed. Both of us will have to venture out sooner or later; I am just hoping the forecast was correct and that eventually the bad weather will drift Northwards. In the meantime I just feel so for all those who have suffered flooding and are still in the cleaning up process (and that includes locals here from the flood on July 30th) - it is hard enough but surely made slightly more bearable if the sun is shining.
I was taken back into the past again this morning (after my post on Christmas preparations yesterday) when I read the Robert Bridges poem 'November' on Sue's post (The Cottage at the End of a Lane) - it so perfectly sums up for me what life was like in the thirties in farming country. It is so nostalgic to look back on it and then I recall the poorly-paid farm workers out in all weathers, with sacks over their shoulders in an effort to keen dry and warm and I know we don't want those days back and thank goodness for the invention of modern farm machinery. But I shall read the poem at next Wednesday's Poetry meeting because I love it so much. If you go over and read it I would like to know what you make of the last two lines please.