Here is our little island from above (Nasa satellite). It is freezing - in fact, the coldest winter in thirty years the BBC and everyone else reckons. Or at least since the winter Sonnet was in Shefield, Silver reminds her. I get my weather history from the black cab drivers who all have some story about snow packed up to your chin. They love talking about the weather and the Congestion Charge. It used to be Ken Livingston, who they felt no better than the gum on the sole of your shoe, but now he is gone. London hits -3C degrees and -22.3C in the Highland village of Altnaharra, poor bastards. The snow has now turned to packed ice shutting airports and making the local roads treacherous. I fell off my bicycle. The BBC reports that councils have had "tons of grit" stolen - yes, the bad weather brings out the worst in everybody. Especially now that the holidays over.
Our nasty winter began at 6:05AM when Sonnet informed me "we have a little problem." A copper pipe burst shooting water six or seven feet into the air and into our side walkway and neighbors backyard. Using my dinky bike torch, hands numb, clothes wet and temperatures freezing we battle the tides I all the while cursing for not knowing where the house's cock-stop located. Eventually we give up the ghost and frantically call plumbers. I get through to our local who helps me clamp the water valve until he arrives with a wrench. We are damn lucky the burst not in or underneath the house.
From there, I go straight to Homebase and buy a ton of crap for my tool-box including a 1,000,000 candle power torch and a ten-pound grip. I am through fucking around.
Sonnet: "I am meeting (designer) Paul Smith this morning."
Eitan: "What! You have to be joking!"
Sonnet:
Eitan: "Sir Walter Smith is the manager of the (Glasgow) Rangers!"
Me: "Who is going to join me with the compost?"
Eitan, Madeleine:
Me: "So why do we compost anyway?"
Eitan, Madeleine:
Me: "Ok, it is because we humans are destroying the planet. We pollute our oceans and streams and lakes; we fill our skies with particles and exhaust and dump our waste into landfills. We are creating problems that you will have to solve after your mother and I are dead."
Madeleine: "Don't say that Dad! I don't even want to think of you dying."
Eitan: "Can I have desert now?"
Here is our little island from above (Nasa satellite). It is freezing - in fact, the coldest winter in thirty years the BBC and everyone else reckons. Or at least since the winter Sonnet was in Shefield, Silver reminds her. I get my weather history from the black cab drivers who all have some story about snow packed up to your chin. They love talking about the weather and the Congestion Charge. It used to be Ken Livingston, who they felt no better than the gum on the sole of your shoe, but now he is gone. London hits -3C degrees and -22.3C in the Highland village of Altnaharra, poor bastards. The snow has now turned to packed ice shutting airports and making the local roads treacherous. I fell off my bicycle. The BBC reports that councils have had "tons of grit" stolen - yes, the bad weather brings out the worst in everybody. Especially now that the holidays over.