Wait a minute Nick, that’s not your house.
Well spotted, imaginary reader. I am currently on a trip with the peace corps to Macclesfield, the treacle town of Cheshire. Why exactly I am updating this blog rather than interacting with the person who kindly invited me into his home is anyone’s guess.
The main reason why I feel a strong urge to update this blog is the weather. I realise that, for a blog seemingly about Anglo-Saxon, I talk about the weather a fairly boring amount but, today for once, the weather is truly remarkable.
When we got in last night it was blowing a gale like I’ve rarely seen. From the warm interior of our taxi, I watched my friend battle against the elements at the ATM in order to, erm, pay for our taxi. It was good watching. And when we got back home things turned from bad to worse and the snow came hurtling down. It didn’t stick, probably because it was being battered in the same hurricane winds that overturned the gazebo and patio heater during the night. Even now, in the cold light of day, the wind and snow and spray is pretty impressive (I say, whilst sitting in the conservatory).
I knew the North was a savage land but this takes the rich tea biscuit.