The weather ain't bein' clement that's what it is. Today's weather report for France made the hexagon sound as huge as China. In the North (and that includes the Duchy) we have snow warnings. No need to warn this Gozitan. I can bloody well see the greyness and whiteness out there. The curtain of falling snow is thick, the roads inpracticable and the serenity muffling. but it's cool... or rather cold. Further down, in Lyon to be exact, they are lucky to register 8 on the celsius scale. That is point five less than Malta's coldest day since 1962. Who's complaining now. You only need to drive four more hours away from Lyon and get to Provence and the bastards down there are getting a magnificent 15 degrees (l'odeur de Printemps according to the met reader).
Across La Manche I was amused to see that parliamentary questions have been tabled questioning (that's what PQ's do I am afraid) the HM's Met Office practice of speaking of the start of Spring on March 1st. It goes against all historical calculations which put Spring's Starter firmly around the 20th/21st mark. "But we've been doing it like that (starting on the 1st) for ages" protested the Met man. Meanwhile the Whisky Pygmy in Aberdeen is waxing lyrical about Spring's games at neebother. Which makes me wonder whether the Scot's know something that the Brits don't.
I look out and I see snow (and hesitate to say blizzard). So tonight it's din dins inside and then we will trek to the cinema in parka, snow shoes and preferably a snow plough! But baby, it's cold outside!
The neighbors might think - Baby, it's bad out there
Say, what's in this drink - No cabs to be had out there
I wish I knew how - Your eyes are like starlight now
To break this spell - I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell
I ought to say no, no, no, sir - Mind if I move a little closer
At least I'm gonna say that I tried - What's the sense in hurting my pride
I really can't stay - Baby don't hold out
Ahh, but it's cold outside