A night of Blithe Spirit

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, tis why I am,
Goddamm.
So 'gainst the winter's balm
Sing Goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm
Sing Goddamm, sing Goddamm,
DAMM.

Thank you Ezra.

But we do not let these trifling snows and sleets stop us, no! Are we supine fools to hide under duvets on sofas and watch yet more Simpsons on TV while the chimney shudders in the wind and the fire blows fitfully? Never! Mainly because larians won't let us. No, when the weather turns tempestuous and all the land is white, the appropriate behaviour is to don duffle and scarf and head off down to Macclesfield town to watch the latest offering from MADS, Macclesfield Am Dram Society. Earlier offerings have included 'Anna Karenina' 'Twelth Night' 'Popcorn' 'Dangerous Liaisons' and 'Dracula', the latter production notable for its singular disposal of the count by having his head kicked in*. MADS' latest offering is Noel Coward's 'Blithe Spirit.'

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Then we made our way home, along the pretty lanes around Wilmslow and Mottram St Andrew; the mist was spectral, coming in at us through the windscreen, the snow had disneyfied every roof from church to car sales room, and the roads were thick with black ice. Pretty. Freezing. Goddamn.

*This is generally acknowledged by MADS cognoscenti to be the society's darkest hour.

** Except the doctor's wife. We don't talk about her.