Learn, O my friends, from my experience. Let no-one tell you that a few random gleams of sunshine make a summer. Let no-one (lest of all yourself) encourage you to leap into an inviting outside pool thinking that the aforementioned shafts of light from our distant star will have warmed the water to any sort of acceptable level.
Suffice to say my entry into the icy depths of our pool was immediately followed by the expulsion of all oxygen from my lungs. It was like being punched all over the body by a you-sized and you-shaped pair of boxing gloves.
Did I immediately quit the gelid waters? Of course not! I am an experience swimmer in outdoor pools. Admittedly the one that I knew best was heated so that on a cold morning I would see wisps of steam rising encouragingly from the surface of the pool indicating to me (even with my limited grasp of science) that the water was warmer than the surrounding atmosphere.
Eventually the pain subsided and the stinging feeling of intense cold became merely uncomfortable and I even managed to swim and breathe at the same time. Eventually I became so accustomed to the cold (enough nerve endings had been destroyed) that I was even able to drape myself decorously over the submerged division between the main pool and the children’s pool as if it were the height of summer. It wasn’t and the, what shall I call it, “invigorating” effect of my brief submersion lasted for a considerable way into the evening.
By the time it came to going to bed the generally inclement weather had made it clear that the decision to jettison the duvet was premature!
Our poor weather is now becoming a national scandal and summer seems no nearer than it did weeks ago. By rights we should be enjoying the lowlands of the high temperatures that we can expect during summer, but this year has been a year of exceptions and we are getting restless!
Today is Election Day and I find myself being unable to come to a definite conclusion about what I want to happen in this election. Some things are, of course quite clear: the usual Conservative mutterings about the BBC and how its power and programming must be redirected are par for the course. Brown’s comments on immigration were depressing and the way that Clegg parades his wholesomeness reminds me of Coriolanus in the public square!
As we are an hour ahead of the UK, it means that the election results are going to be announced far too late for me to listen to them as the happen. I will have to go to bed and wake up to a different world!
At least Radio 4 is back on line after considerable technical manipulation to get it working. It is not just the turning on and off of equipment, it is the knowing when and how to do it that makes all the difference!
I have now finished reading “The Medusa Project - The Set Up” by Sophie McKenzie. This is a badly written pot boiler with a clunking plot and a ruthlessly rip-off central idea – that a scientist has created a gene which encourages the development of paranormal abilities in youngsters when they reach puberty.
At no point was I convinced by this book and the thought that there would be another four books each one narrated by one of the four teenagers with the Medusa gene in them was frankly depressing.
I read this book immediately after reading the Anthony Horowitz novel “Snakehead” and it merely emphasizes what a competent author Horowitz is.
Now for Anatole France’s stories. I know how to live!
Suffice to say my entry into the icy depths of our pool was immediately followed by the expulsion of all oxygen from my lungs. It was like being punched all over the body by a you-sized and you-shaped pair of boxing gloves.
Did I immediately quit the gelid waters? Of course not! I am an experience swimmer in outdoor pools. Admittedly the one that I knew best was heated so that on a cold morning I would see wisps of steam rising encouragingly from the surface of the pool indicating to me (even with my limited grasp of science) that the water was warmer than the surrounding atmosphere.
Eventually the pain subsided and the stinging feeling of intense cold became merely uncomfortable and I even managed to swim and breathe at the same time. Eventually I became so accustomed to the cold (enough nerve endings had been destroyed) that I was even able to drape myself decorously over the submerged division between the main pool and the children’s pool as if it were the height of summer. It wasn’t and the, what shall I call it, “invigorating” effect of my brief submersion lasted for a considerable way into the evening.
By the time it came to going to bed the generally inclement weather had made it clear that the decision to jettison the duvet was premature!
Our poor weather is now becoming a national scandal and summer seems no nearer than it did weeks ago. By rights we should be enjoying the lowlands of the high temperatures that we can expect during summer, but this year has been a year of exceptions and we are getting restless!
Today is Election Day and I find myself being unable to come to a definite conclusion about what I want to happen in this election. Some things are, of course quite clear: the usual Conservative mutterings about the BBC and how its power and programming must be redirected are par for the course. Brown’s comments on immigration were depressing and the way that Clegg parades his wholesomeness reminds me of Coriolanus in the public square!
As we are an hour ahead of the UK, it means that the election results are going to be announced far too late for me to listen to them as the happen. I will have to go to bed and wake up to a different world!
At least Radio 4 is back on line after considerable technical manipulation to get it working. It is not just the turning on and off of equipment, it is the knowing when and how to do it that makes all the difference!
I have now finished reading “The Medusa Project - The Set Up” by Sophie McKenzie. This is a badly written pot boiler with a clunking plot and a ruthlessly rip-off central idea – that a scientist has created a gene which encourages the development of paranormal abilities in youngsters when they reach puberty.
At no point was I convinced by this book and the thought that there would be another four books each one narrated by one of the four teenagers with the Medusa gene in them was frankly depressing.
I read this book immediately after reading the Anthony Horowitz novel “Snakehead” and it merely emphasizes what a competent author Horowitz is.
Now for Anatole France’s stories. I know how to live!
No comments:
Post a Comment