Wet winter or ice-cold winter? Exploding trees. Bears. Dealing with accumulated clutter.

Everyone, me included, is going on about the continual rain. However, to be honest, here we have had grey days, occasional damp days and even some bright days. For once the wettest weather has circled around Greater Manchester, keeping the worst of the rain for the night time! Today rain is forecast but it’s not happened yet (early afternoon). Here is a link to an article by Guardian columnist Emma Brooks, telling us how preferable a wet winter is to a deep snow winter.

Tomorrow they are promising us snow. We shall see!

And here is a link to an article about exploding trees. Apparently when there is a severe drop in temperature, really severe, down to serious minus figures, the sap in some trees freezes. And the frozen sap expands. Just like frozen water in your domestic pipes expanding and breaking the pipes, the expanding frozen sap causes the tree to crack open. If it happens suddenly it can be quite noisy. We don’t seem to have that problem here. 

Neither do we have the problem of bears moving into your house, as the writer of this article describes. Of course it’s all down to where you live - buying house, or building your own, at the edge of a forest where bears are known to live - and the kind of house - the sort with a fairly open-access basement area. The bears I have seen in reports of this kind of squatting are large, rather fierce-looking creatures that could just be shooed out. Someone also told me that when bears get used to ‘raiding’ people’s homes for food they grow so used to it that sometimes they have to be humanely put down as they will never re-adapt to foraging in wild for more bear-appropriate food. Think of Yogi Bear and his love of picnic / pickernick baskets!

I spent part of yesterday de-cluttering desk drawers, getting rid of ancient bank statements, out of date documents and such like. Most of these things we now deal with online, so it was time to purge and remove anything no longer needed. Quite cathartic in its way.

Guardian columnists Zoe Williams recently wrote about the hassle of moving house, swapping notes with a friend about the difficulty of dealing with all the clutter. Here’s s sample:

“My friend, clearing out a chest of drawers, found one filled entirely with different-coloured ribbon of unusable length. I stare at old Christmas cards and can’t figure out whether they’re from a person I’ve tragically forgotten, or if I just found them on the street and decided the right thing to do was to file them. I have spices that are older than my youngest child (16), so I must have moved house with them twice already. I have more defunct appliances than I could name, and fair enough, it is hard to bin a soup maker or an air fryer when you have no clue why they stopped working – if it’s that random, who’s to say they won’t start working again? But there is no excuse for a MiniDisc player.”

I fully understood the bit about the hoarded unusable ribbon. When my father died we sorted out his beautifully organised garden shed. There we found old tobacco tins filled with miscellaneous objects: rubber bands which had perished, assorted screws and nails, and, possibly best of all, pieces of string, all to short to be really useful for anything! But all neatly stored in tins! 

And I too have ridiculously old jars of spices - usually bought for a specific recipe, used maybe three times and then stored in a kitchen cupboard!

So now I have resolved to do more decluttering, removing stuff that has been kept on the off-chance that it might be useful, photos of educational visits to unidentified places with now-forgotten former students, and so on. So much clutter to deal with! No time to be bored!

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Rain. Bees in the workplace. Some more on words. Sneezing. And different views of America.

Granddaughter Number Two posted a message on the family chat this morning: “It Is RAINING raining today, like a proper heavy rain!” I assume she was on her way to work in the office. Had she been working from home, she might not have noticed the rain. Here, it’s just drizzling steadily.

According to newspaper reports, some parts of the country have been having biblical quantities of rain - 40 days and more.

Back in the day, when I was working full time as a sixth form teacher (not allowed to be ill, like the doctors I mentioned yesterday), we were regularly subjected to In-Service Training, often involving team building activities. Here’s a report of a similar idea: 

“In a growing number of workplaces, the soundtrack of the lunch break is no longer the rustle of sandwiches at a desk, but the quiet hum of bees – housed just outside the office window.

Employers from Manchester to Milton Keynes are working with professional beekeepers to install hives on rooftops, in courtyards and car parks – positioning beekeeping not as a novelty but as a way to ease stress, build community and reconnect workers with nature in an era of hybrid work and burnout.

“There’s something very special – almost spiritual – about enabling your employees to take time away from work to see how nature has created the greatest example of how every business should run,” said Chris Payne, a co-founder of Green Folk Recruitment.”

In some cases, it seems, employees are taken on excursions to bee farms. Very nice! But there is still a bit of me that says the time might be better spent. And if emplyers are really concerned about the wellbeing and mental health of their employees maybe shorter working hours and higher wages would be a good idea.”

They might have difficulty with bee hives in those places where the rain doesn’t stop.

It must be something to do with being linguists but Phil and I often wonder about the origin of words and expressions. One of these is ‘a pretty pass’ - we keep using that to comment on the state of the world. So I looked it up:

“The phrase "a pretty pass" originated in England, likely in the late 16th or early 17th century, and is used to describe a situation that has become undesirable or problematic. Its earliest recorded use can be traced back to a comic opera in 1763, highlighting its long-standing presence in the English language

The oldest printed record of the phrase “come to a pretty pass” can be traced back to 1763 in Love in a Village; A Comic Opera by Isaac Bickerstaffe that reads: 

“Hodge. Indeed! Marry come up! Why, then pray let yourself out again. Times are come to a pretty pass; I think you might have had the manners to knock at the door first.” 

“Pretty” word is from Old English prættig, “cunning,” from præt “trick” – unrelated to prat “idiot,” which originally referred to the buttocks (hence pratfall: a fall onto the backside).

By the 15th century, pretty described something cunningly made, crafty or clever, which led to its use to express someone gorgeous or attractive – most commonly a female or kid. However, the diarist Samuel Pepys refers to one Dr. Clarke as a “very pretty man.”

Ironic uses of pretty to refer to something unpleasant are the origins of phrases like “pretty pass,” “pretty state of affairs,” and “pretty kettle of fish”; the latter more often found in the phrase “different kettle of fish.” The kettle here isn’t the kind we use to make tea, but rather a large cooking vessel (from Latin catillus ).”

In an article about sneezing I discovered that sneezing doesn’t make your heart skip a beat or make your eyeballs pop out if you purposefully keep your eyes open (both are urban myths).  Nonetheless it remains true that sneezing while driving a car is one of the most disturbing things as you instinctively close your eyes. Moving from a dull place to a bright exterior can provoke a sneeze; this is an established fact. In our house we call them “sunshine sneezes”. I went to school with a girl who amused us all with her sneezing when we visited Stratford on Avon. Leaving dimly lit places like Anne Hathaway’s cottage had her sneezing repeatedly. I can understand that something tickling your nose can make you sneeze but what I want to know is why certain foods or drinks hitting the back of my throat provoke the same reaction.

Following the fuss about Bad Bunny at the Super Bowl, here’s an interesting set of maps: 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Cash or card? The difficulty of going cardless. And mis-used words that annoy me. Returning gifts.

I have mentioned before that I have a sort of personal campaign going on to keep cash in use. The Italian greengrocery where I shop regularly (at present they have excellent oranges, by the way) put up a notice recently about how much they had paid in the last six months in charges for accepting payment by card. Now I think that they only accept card payments for amounts over £5, which still strikes me as a very small amount, all things considered. Yet I see people pay by card, and increasingly not by card but using an app on their mobile phone, for trivial stuff like small packets of chewing gum or bars of chocolate. 

How are children to learnt the value of money if they never see their parents using it but purchasing stuff with a magic card? Here’s a link to an article by someone called Sammy Gecsoyler who set himself the challenge of living cardless for a week. He gave himself £200 for his everyday expenses: travel to work, stocking up with food, buying lunch, socialising and so on.  

He told us that, “According to a report by the trade association UK Finance, cash was used for 9% of all transactions in 2024: the first time this figure has dipped below 10%. In comparison, 34% of all cash payments were made in cash in 2017. A study last year by the cash machine network Link found that fewer than half of people in the UK now carry a physical wallet.”

So the first thing he had to do was buy something to carry his cash in - a transparent pencil case as it happens. He also had to buy an Oyster Card and charge it with cash as it seems buses in London haven’t accepted cash since 2014. As long ago as that!? I am astounded.

He also discovered the inconvenience of his favourite coffee places only accepting card payments. Similarly he couldn’t rent a Lime bike because that can only be done by card.  

He did find himself less likely to impulse buy if payment for those sudden purchases were coming from a supply of actual money - notes and coins - rather than by seeming magic! 

At the end of the week he planned to resurrect his cards but will still use cash for some things.

Maybe it’s harder to live without cards if you don”t live and work in central London. I shall continue my campaign to pay cash, to use manned checkouts at the supermarket, to talk to fellow passengers on the bus, and to say thank you and wish the driver a good day!

Now for some Words: 

fun is a noun. Something can be ‘good fun’ but lately it has become an adjective and now things can be ‘very fun’.

cringe is a verb. Things can make you cringe or you can cringe when you think of certain things you may have done. Now, according to fashion writer Jess Carter Morley, cringe is an adjective and your clothes can be cringe.

It seems that “Being cringe is essentially being old-fashioned, but worse. Being old-fashioned is what happens when you grow older with grace and dignity. Cringe is when you lose your touch while convincing yourself you are still down with the kids.”

I shall try hard not be “cringe” and more correctly not to make people cringe by criticising their use of language. 

That’s it for today. I am posting late because I went out trying to return an unwanted Christmas present (one I bought for someone who then turned out to be allergic to it. This was a fruitless task. For various reasons I had allowed the time period for returning good to elapse and I now have to find another use, or another recipient, for said gift! 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Getting up early. Serendipity. A judgemental Fitbit. Landslips in Sicily. A festival of mud.

 

This morning I got up early,maybe not early compared to when I had to get in my car and drive across Manchester to work, but early for a person whose alarm usually rings at 8.00 and who usually “snoozes” said alarm at least twice!  I had an appointment at the doctor’s in Uppermill and had to get organised to catch a bus.

As I was almost ready to leave, my Fitbit started to vibrate. Odd! It was telling me ai had a text message. This was pure serendipity as I am always accidentally switching off the ‘notifications’ thing. The text message informed me that my appointment was cancelled as the doctor is ill.

Now, doctors are not supposed to get ill. They are like teachers, meant to be available at everyone’s beck and call! Anyway, my doctor was ill. I needed to phone the surgery and rearrange! Very annoying!

Quite often, if I have a reason to go to Uppermill early in the day, and if the weather is set to be fine, I walk to Uppermill, just over half an hour’s brisk walking. If I had not decided to catch the bus today I would have been half way to Uppermill before the text message arrived. Indeed I might not have noticed until I arrived at the surgery. Another bit of serendipity!

I debated changing into my running gear for a morning run but in the end just opted to walk round the village. In any case, my Fitbit usually considers that I have been for a walk. Clearly I don’t run fast enough but walking still meets the Fitbit requirement for exercise! 

Here is a photo of Niscemi, a town in Sicily that I think I have written about a few weeks ago.

A landslip carried away a huge chunk of the town and led to the evacuation of districts at risk of further landslip. As well as houses, a 17th century church and a library full of rare and valuable books are at risk sliding down the hillside. Residents were told to leave their homes taking only “essentials” with them. Some left with only the clothes they were wearing. 

How do you decide at short notice what are the essential belongings and what can be left behind in the hopes of maybe getting back into your home to salvage some more stuff? Family photos and family heirlooms alike, each valuable in their own way, are left behind. I would be hard pressed to know where to start.

Note to self: make sure essential documents such as passports are easily accessible!

Fortunately we don’t live on a flood plane, nor in an earthquake zone, but you never know in the age of climate change and weird weather.

Thinking of weather and especially rain and mud, I read that according to the Anglo-Saxon calendar this time of year was called Solmōnaþ, a name which translates loosely as Mud Month or, more pleasantly, Cake Month. It marked a time when offerings were made to pagan gods, back when England was less Christian and more heathen. The idea was simple. Feed the gods and hope they stayed in a good mood. Humanity has always tried to bargain with the weather.

Here’s a link to an article about someone organising “Month of Mud” Festival. I am aware that there have been times when Glastonbury has seemed like a Festival of Mud but Glastonbury takes place at a hopefully more clement time of year. Rolling around in warm(ish) mud must be preferable! 

Life goes on. Stay and well, everyone!

Rather shy sun! Weather statistics. The rain in Spain. Signs of Spring. Opening ceremonies. Booing!

For a brief interlude this morning it looked as though it was going to be quite a nice day. The sun was having a good try at breaking through and the cloud cover had thinned sufficiently so that you could actually tell that the sky was blue behind there. You could even see the vapour trails from planes passing overhead!  It didn’t last! The cloud moved back in. From time to time the sun has another go but it’s not doing well! 

Then there are headlines like this one:

‘No end in sight’ to Britain’s wet weather as dozens of flood warnings issued

Met Office forecasts more rainfall to continue UK’s 37-day run, and flooding expected especially in south-west England and Midlands

And there are statistics like these: 

In only the first three days of this month, the south-east received nearly a third of its average February rainfall.

Rain has fallen every day of 2026 in the south-west and south Wales, the Met Office announced earlier this week.

So, on the whole, while we have had mostly dull grey days, other parts of the country have been worse off than here. I rather get the impression that most of our heavy rain has fallen overnight, which not much fun for folk who have to work at night but suits the rest of us quite well.

My sister who lives in southwest Spain, near Cadiz, has been posting pictures of the “lakes” which have formed on their beach, the result of all the heavy rain and storms.

However, here I am seeing signs that Spring is on the way. There are catkins on the trees.

The we-eat-wild-food people I come across on social media are asking whether catkins are good to eat. Not very, seems to be the answer, rather dry and full of pollen. You would have thought that with all the damp there would be plenty of edible fungi around without eating catkins. Maybe the happy foragers just want some variety.

The Winter Olympics have got underway. Much fuss has been made about the opening ceremony, which I didn’t watch. Friends who did watch it seem to think it was rather poor. There was a time when opening ceremonies were just the various national teams parading around waving their country’s flag. Now there seems to be a competition to see who can put on the most extravagant, and expensive, display.

One report I saw this morning told that when the cameras cut from the parade to US vice-president JD Vance and his wife, large sections of the crowd booed. The reporter told us, “Canadian viewers heard them. Journalists seated in the press tribunes in the upper deck, myself included, clearly heard them. But as I quickly realized from a groupchat with friends back home, American viewers watching  NBC did not.” Oops! Technical problems? Censorship? 

A US downhill skier had an accident in training and was expected not to take part the games after all. Bravely (?) or foolishly (?) she decided to go ahead and yesterday had to airlifted to hospital after crashing badly during the women’s downhill. I could have told her that might happen. Surely a professional athlete knows better than to force strained muscles and ligaments to carry on competing! 

So it goes! 

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!

Social conventions: talking on buses; saying thank you; using common sense.

Returning from Manchester yesterday, I arrived at Oldham Mumps to find I had 15 minutes to wait for the next bus to Delph. I considered walking the next couple of stops to keep warm but decided that it was probably better to stay where I was in a bus shelter that protected me from the wind. An old chap asked if I knew what time the next 350 bus (my bus) was due. He couldn’t read the timetable as he did not have his glasses with him. And so we got into conversation. This is the gentleman I mentioned yesterday, the one with the house at Dobcross that he bought for £40,000 some 45 years ago. He told me he had been getting lost in Failsworth, another district of Oldham. A screen of some kind needed replacing in his house and he had gone looking for the shop in Failsworth where the original was bought those 45 years ago. Now that could well be a definition of optimism! 

Needless to say he didn’t find a replacement because he didn’t find the shop, probably closed long since. And then he got lost, adding to the fruitlessness of his task. As we were talking we spotted a 356 bus, a service which also goes to Delph and Dobcross via a convoluted route, pulling into the next stop. Simultaneously we declared out inclination to catch that bus, despite its long and scenic route, because it would at least get us into a warmer place than the bus shelter.

So we continued our conversation on the bus. We swopped anecdotes about all sorts of things to do with travel, the bus service and so on. In the process I learnt a good deal of his life story. He was about to be 89, a very sprightly 89 I must say. Maybe some of this was down to his having been a competitive cyclist in his youth. He told me the story of how he met his wife, who died some 12 years ago now, their adventures meeting at various places when he was on leave from military service, pretty much his life story in effect.

At some point he commented on how few people bothered to talk to each other on bus journeys. Too many people just sit and stare at their mobile phones. (Some, of course, share their music, their podcasts and even their quite intimate  conversations with all the other passengers.) I told him that I talk to anyone who is prepared to chat. When I got off in Delph village I promised to look out for him next time I go through Dobcross.

This morning I read this article in which Sangeeta Pillai sets out why she believes we British thank everyone too much.

I have also heard this accusation from friends and acquaintances in Spain. It seems we over-express our gratitude:  “The problem is that we thank too many people, often mindlessly, and innumerable times a day. Thank you, shop assistant (whose job it is to help you shop). Thank you, bus driver (who is getting paid to drive the bus). Thank you, cafe owner (whom you are paying for the food you have ordered). By what feels like the hundredth thank you of the day, the words lose their very essence”

I beg to differ. Around here at any rate the shop assistants and bus drivers seem pleased to be thanked. They also appreciate the small children thanking them as they get off the bus. Sometimes it leads to mini-conversations. And we usually add to it, “Have a nice day!” Now, that may be an Americanism but it makes the world a more cheerful place! Thank you!

Thank you also to the jury in the a certain trial who chose to acquit the activists, the Filton Six, accused of aggravated burglary (all six acquitted), violent disorder (three acquitted) and criminal damage (three acquitted). Here’s a link to Jonathan Cook’s blogpost on that. 

It took considerable courage, he said, for the jury in the that trial to ignore the demands to convict from the judge, the government, the police and the media and instead to weigh the actual evidence. 

Sometimes common sense rules.

Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!