One of the features of our weather round here is that we do tend to get rather a lot of fog. And when that fog comes it can be very localised. Today it is very foggy on the farm - that cold, clinging kind of fog - and yet two or three miles away the sun is shining. Our friend and neighbour G has been into Middleham, the race horse town, which is about five miles away, and it is a bright sunny day there. But as it is now after two in the afternoon I don't think it will ever get really light here and the sun will not shine for us.
I don't think anything fetches the leaves off the trees like fog does. It seems to cling to them, making them heavy. The ground everywhere is covered with yellow, green. orange and brown leaves (particularly where there are sycamores) and they really are putting a show on this year.
I was intending to drive up to the Supermarket this afternoon so that in addition to my weekly order I could also look at and buy the dried fruit for my four Christmas cakes. But the weather is too awful, so my order has just gone on line and the dried fruit can wait.
I am not quite back to normal after my visitor as I spent too much time on my feet and my wretched ankle is very painful and I am having to sit with my foot up as much as possible - a perfect excuse to read one of my birthday presents (from friend G), Bill Bryson's latest book "The Road to Little Dribbling."