Unfortunately: this blog has timed out.
by a_spod on Comments
Thumb back through my blog postings and you'll find an occasional but recurring series of pastorals and bucolics. Partly that's because I like fawning to the idyls of great classical poets, but mainly it's because the countryside is always there and so easy to write about. Ten days ago, intending to extend this series, I set about drafting remarks on the rainy summer, only to succumb to some pox-awful virus which I'm hoping was Swine-flu, given there are cases at a local school, but which, knowing my luck, was just whatever Voidy had. (That'll teach me for not running Anti-virus.) And now I'm recovered and caught up with my work, the ubiquitous grey skies have melted and a heatwave is forecast. (How could the English summer resist sticking two fingers up at the Lawn Tennis Association for building a roof on Wimbledon? "Go Tim! Go!"). With this upturn in the weather it seems inopportune to reprise a paean to the grass's succulent green seas (its wilting already) and skies that are a rainbow of colours – all grey. Still I got one thing correct: come the end of this week you'll be gagging for those rainy grey days, with or without authentic bucolic flu. :P