Two weeks on, and it still feels like the arctic!

I have to say that I am now well and truly sick of being cold and more often than not, also wet.

Living in one of the highest and one of the few steep, north facing parts of Surrey, the ice and snow hang around here longer than anywhere else and when they fall, do so with a vengeance and we get far more than anyone else locally. I have resorted to taking photos of the garden marked with the date and time and sending them in to work when I can’t get out of the road with the car, as they don’t believe me. For instance as of now, everywhere else the white stuff has disappeared, but not here! Oh no, it is lurking in corners and on the flower beds looking like it will be there until July. There remains a reasonable sized bank of it nestled up against the side of the greenhouse which is frozen solid.

The forecast for the Easter weekend, which being at the beginning of April we might have had not unreasonable hopes of being spring like and warmish, looks dire. Top temperatures of four degrees all weekend, significantly lower than average, with drifting fronts of rain and sleet criss-crossing the country. We might avoid those in the south east, but with what can only be described as a needling, bitter wind still in evidence it still looks as though we have become a far flung outpost of the arctic.

“Don’t be such a wimp” I hear some of you cry! “You can dress for the cold and when you get out and do a bit of exercise you get so warm!” Maybe, and if that’s what you want to do then bully for you, but personally I can do without weather which means it takes about ten minutes to get ready to go out of the front door due to the amount of clothing and thermal protection you have to put on. To walk the dog, I am wearing leggings with jeans over the top, a T-shirt, then a long sleeved shirt, then a thick jumper, then a Barbour. I have a thick scarf which is wrapped round my neck about three times, a woolly hat which makes me look as though I am going to a fancy dress party as an elf, two pairs of sock, wellies and leather gloves. Quite frankly, I look ludicrous and am a fair impersonation of the Michelin Man, being practically circular once everything is on.

There would appear to be no let up in this abysmal weather for the foreseeable future, quite possibly through to the middle of April. It will really piss me off if the moment I go away for my holidays in the second week of April the weather breaks and the UK gets sunshine and mid teens temperatures. I remember two years ago going to Greece with two friends mid April when the weather here had been awful and saying “It’s lovely in Crete in April, temperatures mid twenties and we’ll be on the beach”. The minute we left, temperatures in the UK became tropical and the whole week that we were away, it was 27 degrees here but tipped it down in Greece and was cold. It didn’t ruin the holiday, but it didn’t help after I’d bigged it up so much.

I dread to think how much money we will owe the gas board by the time (if ever) we get to switch the heating off. Four days a week (the weekend and the two days I work at home) the boiler is going for about 16 hours, virtually all day. This is a naturally cold house due to the two open chimneys, an unheated kitchen (the radiator is behind an extra cupboard we installed as I have so many pots and pans, and so we switched it off) and the fact that the French windows don’t shut properly with a gap at the top you can see daylight through. I keep meaning to get them fixed, but they’re not a security risk as the locking mechanism still works and have simply dropped slightly in the centre away from the frame, so it isn’t really a priority. I’m not even sure if you can get things like that fixed, or if they have to be replaced. That definitely isn’t affordable, although if I offset the gas bills I might manage it.

The best investment I have made in recent weeks was an electric blanket, which I bought through an ebay ‘Deal of the Day’ for about a quarter of its usual price. About an hour before we go to bed one of us goes and switches it on and it’s toastie in the extreme when we eventually slip under the duvet. Lovely, and no need for bedsocks.

Now there’s an image to leave you with!

The sun has got his hat on, hip hip hip hooray!

The sun is shining as I write this (although probably not by the time you read it!)

For me, the world always looks better when the sun shines, which is more than can be said for the human population. Lobster pink tans, cropped tops two sizes too small and mini skirts which are really just wide belts worn by girls with thighs the size of tree trunks are just some of the delights which await us on sunny days in the city. Either that or the ridiculously named ‘city shorts’ which just look like a pair of suit trousers that have been cut off just below the crutch by a reject from fashion school.

I love the sun! The two things I hate most in the world (outside of baseball caps, crap reality TV, offal and rats) are being cold and being wet. So when the sun shines, I am in my element.

The other week we had a few days of the temperature in the high twenties. That’s relatively mild by some European standards, but quite warm for the UK.

“Oh, isn’t it hot? Too much for me!”

“I hate this heat. So muggy!”

“Phew! What a scorcher!” (‘The Sun’ – predictably)

“Well, this is like being in Africa.”

Just a few of the fatuous and stupid remarks I heard! What’s wrong with the British? We spend all of our time moaning about how chilly it is (‘chilly’ being about minus ten) and how much it rains, and at the first gleam of a sunbeam everyone is moaning it’s too hot!

Brits are, of course, famous for their obsession with the weather and for their world renowned wet and temperate climate. The rest of Europe sees it as something of a laughing matter, but most Brits take the weather extremely seriously and we are all guilty of poring over the forecast before a day out and agonising about what to wear (me included). And that’s because it’s so bloody unreliable and changeable.

This morning, for example, when I left the house for work it was misty, damp and rather nippy (I had goose pimples and my car thermometer said twelve degrees!). By the time I got up to London an hour later, the sun was out and it was 20 degrees. In between, we had grey skies which looked like they were about to dump Noah’s flood on us, but actually never did. You just don’t know what to expect or what to wear. So, we are obsessed.

I know global warming is supposedly well on its way and means wetter and warmer weather, and it seems reckless to say I don’t care. I know some crops and populations will suffer, but there will be advantageous changes too. And I like the sun! I would be happy if it shone every day of the year and it was summer for the whole twelve months. Some respite from the searing heat of a forty degree August would be nice, but nothing lower than fifteen degrees even in February, please.

Even when you feel low, the sun makes you smile. It is a natural human instinct to turn your face to the light and warmth, and we should relish it and learn to manage our changing world rather than complain about it. And we should harness the energy and feelgood factor the sun brings, because overall, it makes the world a better place.

Why aren't I Mediterranean?

I should definitely have been born in the Mediterranean.

For a start, I hate the English weather. "Oh, but it's so beautiful and green" afficionados will say, "So lovely to see the seasons change". Well I don't subscribe to that view. I hate being cold, and I hate being wet, and I seem to have been nothing but both of those things for the last month. I don't really like green as a colour, although a garden in full bloom in the summer with striped green grass is, I grant you, a lovely sight. But I much prefer the hard, brilliant landscape of much of the Med with its golden rocks, duck egg blue sky and fierce light. And as far as landscape goes, give me the harsh Yorkshire Moors or Dartmoor over the Dales every time. Rolling green fields are boring. And I won't miss seasons which are cold, wet and dismal most of the time. Permanent summer would suit me fine.

Secondly, I love Mediterranean food. Yes, I like pies and pastries as much as the next girl (and my waistline proves it) but I love peppers, tomatoes and garlic sliced straight from the vines, warm from the sun and dished up as a light lunch with a dressing of olive oil and fresh herbs . I love eating al fresco from the barbeque, beautiful grilled fish and seafood with no adornment apart from oil and herbs and none of the cloying French sauces which show off the chef's technique but are often used to disguise mediocre protein or inadequate amounts of it. I love fresh fruit in season - peaches, lemons, figs, pomegranates to name just a few - and drinking the local wine made in a little winery just down the road.

Thirdly, I like the lifestyle and it suits my body clock. I am always tired because I have to get up early, work all day at a demanding job with a relentless pace and then because I want a life, I am often out until late in the evening for my hobbies. There is no break and no rest and therefore little pleasure. I could quite happily get up early and be out late if I could rest during the day, and there is nothing nicer when on holiday than being able to indulge my preference for a siesta. Also, I dislike eating when I get up, preferring to eat about 10am which a lot of Mediterranean cultures do, then I like to eat mid afternoon like they do when they stop work at 2pm, then eat dinner late as they do (to take advantage of the climate and because they often then go back to work from 5pm until 9pm). Our UK timetable means that isn't possible, and we eat at routine UK times because we must.

Fourthly, my health is better in warmer, drier climates. I suffer dreadfully from bronchial complaints, although these have been much better in recent years as I have started having flu jabs each autumn. When I am away, my sinuses are clear and I don't have to use the steroid spray I use every day in the UK, and my skin is better as it is in the sun more and less inclined to be oily (as I have reached my fifties, my hormones are regressing to my teenage years and I am a mass of zits!). I drink more water, and so my digestive system behaves much better than it does at home where I forget to drink enough fluid during the day.

For now, the Med is just for holidays.  But I cannot wait for the day when I can move there permanently, coming back to the UK for holidays only. "Won't you miss things here?", people ask me and yes, of course there will be things and people I will miss. But it's not that far away (it takes less time to get back to the UK from the southern Mediterranean than it does to get from Penzance to London) and technology helps you keep in touch. And on balance, I think it is the place to be. So roll on .....

It's a blustery day!

As Winnie the Pooh would have said, it's a blustery day! When my kids were little that was the WTP episode they loved the most, with Pooh flying off on a balloon and Eyeore chasing him, Tigger bounding after them with enthusiasm.

Not much damage here. A few twiggy branches down and the winter cover blown off the vegetable beds. And one piece of glass blown loose, but not broken, in the greenhouse. We probably ought to count ourselves lucky - it was blowing a gale all night as well. (Of course, now I've typed that, it'll be sods law that a tree will go over or some tiles come off the roof or something).

The Hubby had trouble getting to work this morning as the Dartford Bridge was closed and the traffic was tailing back for miles. In the end he came home and tried to sit it out, it didn't improve and so he went to work by train - let's hope they were running OK. Personally, I'd have rung in, said I was marooned (in Surrey mind you, not exactly a backwater) and worked at home, but then he is a martyr to the cause of local government. God knows why, it's a thankless profession.

The cats don't want to go out. They're standing at the cat flap, obviously desperate for a pee and almost crossing their legs, trying to time it between the gusts of wind. So far, their timing has been rubbish; I saw one of them almost get blown up the garden, tail aloft, in mid stream! Very amusing, but poor creature obviously got very stressed and came dashing back in without finishing off what she was doing. It's my pretty Tortoiseshell long hair, who hates bad weather of any kind. She's probably pee'd up the rubbish in the lobby out the back as revenge for my laughter.

There have been some tragedies; I saw an interview at lunch time on the news with a poor man whose van had been crushed by a falling tree and the guy sitting next to him was killed. The only reason he escaped was because at that very moment, he had bent down to retrieve his cigarette lighter from the floor of the van where he had dropped it and was in the footwell, not sitting upright. He hasn't even got any bruises, but he'll live with the mental scar of seeing his mate die for the rest of his life.

Supposedly it's all going to calm down tonight, but get cold and frosty. That's fine. I just can't help thinking that it's panto soon and we haven't really been hit yet by any bad weather to affect rehearsals or performances. I bet Mother Nature has something up her sleeve! I won't be really happy about that until we get to the last night; rain, winds, frost is all OK, just no snow please.

Another cat has just ventured out! I'm now off to watch her out of the window, and am prepared to chuckle as the wind blows her fur up the wrong way and she tries to find somewhere out of the wind to do whatever she needs to do. They really do resemble people on the beach at Brighton trying to shelter and pretend it's a lovely day to be beside the seaside, struggling to put up their wind break. Now there's a thought - a wind break for cats! Not sure it'd catch on though; those paws are useless for holding a mallet!

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Oh the weather outside is frightful
But the fire is so delightful
And if you've no place to go
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

And that's exactly what it's doing at the moment. Just a bit. Fat little flakes which are now starting to settle on the grass and pavements but (not yet) on the road. Nasty, wet, slushy muck which would be laughed at by tough alpine dwellers or those in countries where they get tons of the stuff every winter. Yes, its pretty when it's all white and sparkly, but what's the betting it causes chaos, even after the lessons of the last two winters when for a few days the country ground to a halt.

I hate the snow. I'm a Mediterranean beach person, most comfortable at about 90 degrees fahrenheit. I hate getting wet, I hate being cold, I hate not being able to get anywhere and I HATE not being able to go out in my trendy little soft top car safely. And when it snows here the road becomes impassable (it's steep, faces North and never gets gritted) so we have to leave the cars at the bottom and walk the last 500 yards. And this is suburbia, for Christ's sake, not some remote part of Northumbria.

I hate shivering on station platforms only to get into a train that is so overheated I have to strip off several layers of clothing and still feel like I'm in a sauna. I spend most of the winter looking like a sort of bag lady version of the Michelin Man.

Because I have a bad back and dodgy knees, I am terrified of falling on ice or snow, so spend most of my time shufflling around like some old biddy of 95. In fact I'm thinking of getting some prosthetic old lady features from the stage makeup shop and wearing them all winter so that people help me across the road and get up from their seats for me on the train (although that's a rare event these days!) and I can park in the disabled spaces at the supermarket (of which there are far too many).

I hope it stops soon. I have to go out tonight and if it's icy I don't like driving (I'm a bit conscious I'm sounding like a right wimp here, but just in case you haven't quite got the message yet, I DON'T LIKE SNOW) (or ice!). I was definitely born in the wrong country, wasn't I?

Roll on retirement. I'm going to sell up and move out to my house in Crete permanently. It snows there about once every ten years and even then it only lasts for about 24 hours then the sun comes out and its 20 degrees again. I'll clearly be much happier. But I expect I'd only find something else to moan about.