It’s hailing

Yes, that’s right. Hail. For fuck’s sake.

When this lockdown started, I thought there was a deal: Stay close to home and you will get good weather for gardening and sitting outside on the deck, sipping coffee and listening to the birds.

Well, that seemed to be the deal in March. Apparently it’s still the deal in the UK, according to friends. Not so much since here. It’s May now and yesterday it was so cold I had to light a fire in the middle of the afternoon. What the fuck?

You completely mismanage a pandemic and you get good weather? You manage it reasonably well and you get a hailstorm in May? Again, what the fuck? Somebody’s having a laugh and it ain’t me.

I repeat: It’s May. I should be out on the garden swing with Stella, chatting to the people walking by. Instead, I’ve just realised, I’m going to have to go down to the garden and fetch the cushions off the swing to dry off. And bring up more firewood, because, no matter how many layers of clothing I’ve added to my outfit today, I can’t keep pretending it isn’t fucking cold in here.

On an unrelated (though much on my mind) topic, I’d like to thank Kenny Rogers for dying. If he hadn’t I probably never would have got back in touch with an old mate (long story) who’s turned out to be the only useful bastard as far as my Mac migration migraines are concerned.

Thank you, John.

That’s it for today. The hail is now merely a downpour. I have to go rescue the swing cushions.