enitharmon: (Default)
Now that was a storm last night! Definitely the liveliest night since I've been back in Barrow. Guess what, it's bin day today so all the wheelie bins and bin bags were out. Do I need to elaborate?

Funny how this one, unlike the one the nesh southerners had the other day, isn't national headlines, isn't it?
enitharmon: (Default)
It's bright and sunny and breezy here. No storm overnight. Not like the storms night after night a couple of weeks ago. Although if you weren't living in these parts you probably wouldn't have heard about those. Only if they hit London do they matter...

In the first twenty-four hours I spent on Shetland in January 1993, the weather changed from pleasant, bright sunshine to heavy snow to a Force 13 gale. The Great Storm of October 1987 was Force 11 gusting to Force 12, just to give that a bit of perspective. Shetlanders take that in their stride and it never made the BBC news or the front pages of national newspapers. But then, Lerwick is a far-off place of which we know little!
enitharmon: (Default)
Mostly, today has been bright and sunny, if very, very windy. Within the last ten minutes the skies turned leaden, the wind blew even stronger, and there's heavy sleet blowing in it. Outside on the ground there's already a dusting of white. Won't last, though.

Me, I'm full of restless energy. I have a new writing idea - non-fiction this time - and my mind is all over the place. Can't think where to start.

And would you believe it, the sun is shining again!
enitharmon: (Default)
It's a wild and woolly day even by the standards of this capital of wild-and-woolliness.

I'd have stayed indoors, but I had to go down to Morrisons for some bread flour. Though grey and windy, it was only spitting when I left home. By the time I was halfway across the High Bridge an Atlantic gale was chucking buckets of water at me.

I'm home now, and guess what? The sun is shining...
enitharmon: (Default)
... nor any drop to drink.

As eny fule kno. Except, apparently, that scourge of trendy teaching and declining educational standards, the Daily Mail, whose headline today (I glimpsed it in the Coop while replenishing my stocks of paracetamol) reads

AND NOT A DROP TO DRINK


I blame the journalists...
enitharmon: (Default)
Yesterday here in Barrow (where torrential rain that goes on all day is far from unknown but we have no river to overflow) it was warm but overcast and muggy all day, the kind of day where you sense that a storm is about to break. About 7.30 pm I went across the road to get some ice cream to put on my apricot crumble, and it began to rain then. It rained steadily all night, but nothing like what others appear to haver experienced.

Would readers of this journal who were affected care to contribute a word picture of yesterday's rains?
enitharmon: (Default)
I'm sorry, I've not posted on here much lately. This is because things have been generally pretty heavy around here, and to cap it all I have a rotten coldy-fluey bug that just won't go away. My sinuses feel as though somebody has squirted superglue into them.

This morning I had to go early to the doctors, which meant getting up before dark (brrrr!) and catching a bus even as the sun was rising. As the bus crossed the Michaelson Road bridge I saw a sight that made me get off two stops early and walk back to capture it:

Morning, Buccleuch Dock


This is just so typically Barrow! (Except, of course, that it's not raining.)

Afterwards it was still so glorious that I took the bus home all the Way to West Shore. The Isle of Man was visible for the first time in ages, and there was snow on the Lakeland Fells:

Snow on the Fells


Meanwhile, I have been prescribed heavy-duty Doxycycline for sinusitis, with a recommendation for hot toddies!
enitharmon: (Default)
A Blustery Day


A high tide and a high wind mean that the sea is in tune with the state of my brain. We just had to get together didn't we!

Mor pictures here.

Bummer

Dec. 5th, 2006 02:18 pm
enitharmon: (Default)
This morning it was bright and sunny with a good breeze, so I put my washing in the machine.

Guess what happened within minutes of me pegging the washing on the line?

Meh!
enitharmon: (Default)
DSCN0963


After two days of pleasant sunshine and mild breezes, the wind and rain muscled in from the Irish Sea last night. It was one of those nights when even Tosca wakes me up at 3am to complain.

Today was a real wild and woolly one. The sort of day when all sensible people lock the doors, pour a stiff drink and curl up with a good book.

So what does Rosie do? She walks down to the beach, that's what! At the beach it's pretty hard to stand upright, and harder to stay in one place. My hat wouldn't stay6 on so I had to stuff it in my pocket and put up the hood on my anorak. That was doubly wise, because the wind was so strong it was hurling, not just sand, but the smaller pebbles at me.

Was I dismayed? No, not at all. It's all amazingly awesome. And it reinforces my belief that the Earth will look after itself in the end, and if Homo sapiens gets uppity, then Gaia might just shrug off Homo sapiens as a good idea that didn't work out.

I always knew Walney was a stormy place at times, so in a way it's what I expect. But long-term locals maintain that it's worse than it used to be.
enitharmon: (Default)
I may be unfit to run at the moment but marshalling the Bramley 20/10 was supposed to have been a way of keeping in touch with my club, the Reading Road Runners who were organising it, and still having a week off to recover from this bug.

I wsa up bright and early and dressed against the cold with lots of layers and my recently retired running shoes on my feet, amd on the train to Bramley. Lack of wheels wouldn't, I though, have mattered as I was down to run the water station at the end of the race, so conveniently close to Bramley station. Anyway, me being good and early the head honcho buttonholes me and tells me I'm needed somewhere else as someone has reported sick. 'Somewhere' is initially just down the hill and round the corner from the station where I was to join Helen, whom I didn't think I knew, in protecting the first rush of runners from Chelsea tractors lurking in the side road. Well, that was no problem, since I'd be even closer to the station. But then once the starters had gone by Helen and I were to race widdershins roan the course to guard the spot where the Devil's Highway (the old Roman Road, m'lud, from Londinium to Calleva Atrebatum) cuts across the route just before the 18/8 mile marker.

That wasn't so bad. The sky was overcast but it was dry and not too cold. For twenty-five minutes Helen and I chatted up some memvers of the Tadley club come to cheer on their mates. Then the first two runners came thundering by, one on the other's shoulder (but they were in two different races). Then a gap before the thrird runner. Then a long gap, until the pack came through, in a trickle at firts then thick and fast, then thinning out towards the tail. Then they became scanty again.

Early on I shouted "Come on Road Runners" to anybody and everybody in the green vest with the two blue diagonal stripes (and as I hadn't got my glasses on, quite a few runners in vaguely green vests from other clubs). As I got to know the other colours I cheered them on too - "Come on Plymouth!" "Way to go, Eastleigh" "Well run St Albans!". And I clapped everybody else. I clapped until my hands were raw, but at least it kept my hands warm.

And then hardly had the last plodder gone by for the first time (and Helen and I has a chance to take turns having a loo break) when the leader came through - alone this time as he'd shed his pursuer at the end of the 10 mile race. Then a gap - not so long that both runners couldn't be seen at once but long enough to know that barring a catastrophe the leader wasn't going to be caught. Then a longer gap before the third, and then two together. A gap before the sixth and then they started coming, though not in a pack now.

It wasn't until a quarter past two, more than two hours after the leader had passed for the second time, that the last runner passed, saying "I bet you're glad to see me!" And we were, because while the 20 mile winner would just about have got home in the dry, it had been raining more and more insistently for most of those two hours. Helen and I were just glad to get into her car and drive back to Reading to get warm and have something to eat. We got on just fine in the end. I now have a snazzy hat in luminous yellow!

Lots of runners took the trouble to acknowledge our cheers and even to call out thanks to the marshals. I regret to say that the further back the runners were, the more they were incliuned to do this. The front runners just ignored us. Probably too busy contemplating their own egos to acknowledge that without people like me and Helen and dozens of other Reading Road Runners prepared to give up their Sunday lie-in to hang around a lonely crossroads for three hours in the February rain.

Ah well, believe it or not, I enjoyed it.

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