Here are the piccies I promised you, not the most exciting – if they look like I took them on a compact camera while out on a stroll – well, I did. These were taken this morning while I was on my way to Carla’s
The sheep didn’t seem totally impressed with the weather.
When I said we had a bit of snow what I actually meant was quite a bit of snow. Being at the top of the hill we get more than most, further down the hill there was hardly any and none at all as I got into the town centre which is only about 2 miles away. It’s no wonder people look at us strangely when we say we’re snowed in.
It was a bit gloomy this morning but it got better as the day wore on, by afternoon it was gorgeous.
These reflections on the snow caught my eye, I’ve never seen them before. I probably could have made a lot more of them but hey ho. It was cold outside and I was supposed to be working, so for once I did the right thing and went straight back to work. So much discipline, that deserves a choccie biccie!
This grass looked nice, the new people in the house down the lane must think I’m nuts, getting on my knees in the snow to photograph grass. They’ll get used to it. Hearsay has it that the new neighbour is a vicar.
The last people to live in that house were great, when they moved in they had a party to get to know everyone in the area, then they had a party every six months after that. Every time they went on holiday they sent us post cards. Now they’ve moved out we don’t even get a christmas card! Odd, all or nothing.
They only stayed about three years (probably couldn’t stand all the parties!) The wifey HATED it up here. The day I met her she slagged the place off mercilessly, complaining of the cold, the wind, the rain and the quiet, the horses, the state of the roads – you get the idea. Well don’t live at the top of a hill in rural Lancashire then! She doesn’t now, they’ve moved to somewhere far more sophisticated. It sounds like she was a miserable old toad, she was really nice when you got to know here. Bob got on famously with the husband.
This weekend we’re going to M & S’s for a late Burns Night supper. We celebrate it every year but this year we couldn’t get our diaries together in time. I hope we don’t have to talk in a brae brich Scottish accent all night again. One year we decided that it would be fine if we all took it in turns to recite some of his poetry – in character and with the correct. It was really hard. Not least because one has to read it, translate it in your head into English and then deliver it in a broad Scottish accent. Way too much brain power after a few whiskeys. We couldn’t find a sword to cut open the haggis so we compromised and used the bread knife.
The first time we did one of these suppers we did a bit of research first so we knew what it was all about. I was shocked! Rabbie Burns was a proper badass!!!! (Ok, I know that wasn’t the most sophisticated word I could have chosen but it made my point).
Last time I tried to put on a foreign accent it was for a murder mystery dinner party and it was supposed to be Scandinavian but it kept coming out a cross between Irish and Indian. Paul really threw himself into his part as a psychopathic German and spent the night screaming at us, twitching a lot and banging the table, it was soooo funny. We laughed till our sides hurt. He spent the next three days with a sore throat.
The trick with a murder mystery dinner party is to invite people who already know each other quite well and cook food that won’t spoil if it’s kept waiting because the timings always go to pot. We haven’t done one for ages, we must be due another one soon. Watch this space.