'Tis the Season

And it's cold. A wind chill of eleven degrees Fahrenheit, or so they say. But for the time being it's a dry cold and I can cope with such low degrees. My grandmother would say tell everyone to stop complaining and pull on another sweater. And her small house in Fishguard only had a small coal fire in the front room (which was only used when the Vicar called to visit) and a similar heater in the middle or living room.

But tomorrow the dry turns to wet and snow is forecast. Perhaps an inch or two. Maybe as much as five inches. No forecaster agrees on how this storm will affect the east end of the island so we simply wait and see.

And the more I think about it, the more I despair of those who dream of a white Christmas. But then I realise that those who do, and who compose songs to that effect, are city dwellers who generally speaking don't have to travel far to work, shop or play. And what is this Yuletide fascination with snow anyway? I blame it on the Victorians. In fact, most things snowy and sentimental about Christmas can be blamed on the Victorians. But then they did produce Charles Dickens and his Ebenezer Scrooge so they can't be all bad.