Lightning Strike
Jul. 5th, 2023 07:00 amBlew out the lights clean out in my office. I heard the bulbs pop a second before the bolt right overhead. Impressive. For a moment I thought it had hit the house, close and ear-splittingly loud enough to chase the cats upstairs, but in lieu of things being on fire I satisfied myself of it being just a power surge. Zeus, Thor, if I've affronted anyone just say so. No, not like that!
For a day in which very little happened beyond my house nearly being reduced to toast*, it was all a little low. No, scrub that, I am a little low. Not depressively so, just an accumulation of stuff.
I am tired and cross. Poor Mrs Gummidge hasn't helped at all, in fact every time I think about it, my eyes automatically roll.
Tired and disgruntled I made a work mistake, one that I should have picked up on before it happened. Amateurish! Annoying!
R is getting better but I am beginning to feel sniffly again. If this turns into two colds each in a 5 week period, three weeks, if we discount Crete, I am seriously going to tout the idea of moving to a drier climate. This is very debilitating. I am supposed to be helping clear some fireweed at Cairnpapple tonight; I want to go but between this and that and whatever...
No, I'm going to make the effort to go.
Trouble is, if ambient damp is the problem, nowhere in Scotland is good. I guess we've had some thoughts of moving maybe further north, because there is some beautiful country (next Scottish holiday = time for the islands!) nor is there any lack of loveliness on the mainland. But maybe this is all just too wet for a couple of peeps with bronchial challenges. We had similar issues in Manchester, another notably damp part of this notably damp island. Again,a kind pleasant place full of kind pleasant people but we suffered from almost permanent colds.
'Bronchial challenges!' 😆
I am usually OK, a bit prone to this and that, nothing much. At some point I will have to go across and look after Mum, though it will be difficult because a)Brexit, and b) she's not going to want me to live with her, nor will she ever leave the flat for some care home, so I would have to rent somewhere. I guess we could both go, but anything upward of 32°C becomes difficult for R, and June/July in Granada can reach 41/42 degrees. The Calima and, less frequently, the Sirocco bring 'blood rain' to the streets, Sahara dust to the lungs. Mum sent me photos of the last Calima this Spring. Granada looked like a city on the surface of Mars, lost in a sepia fog.
Meanwhile, if global warming continues this will all become the Costa del Forth!**
*Possibly an exaggeration.
** As is this.
For a day in which very little happened beyond my house nearly being reduced to toast*, it was all a little low. No, scrub that, I am a little low. Not depressively so, just an accumulation of stuff.
I am tired and cross. Poor Mrs Gummidge hasn't helped at all, in fact every time I think about it, my eyes automatically roll.
Tired and disgruntled I made a work mistake, one that I should have picked up on before it happened. Amateurish! Annoying!
R is getting better but I am beginning to feel sniffly again. If this turns into two colds each in a 5 week period, three weeks, if we discount Crete, I am seriously going to tout the idea of moving to a drier climate. This is very debilitating. I am supposed to be helping clear some fireweed at Cairnpapple tonight; I want to go but between this and that and whatever...
No, I'm going to make the effort to go.
Trouble is, if ambient damp is the problem, nowhere in Scotland is good. I guess we've had some thoughts of moving maybe further north, because there is some beautiful country (next Scottish holiday = time for the islands!) nor is there any lack of loveliness on the mainland. But maybe this is all just too wet for a couple of peeps with bronchial challenges. We had similar issues in Manchester, another notably damp part of this notably damp island. Again,a kind pleasant place full of kind pleasant people but we suffered from almost permanent colds.
'Bronchial challenges!' 😆
I am usually OK, a bit prone to this and that, nothing much. At some point I will have to go across and look after Mum, though it will be difficult because a)Brexit, and b) she's not going to want me to live with her, nor will she ever leave the flat for some care home, so I would have to rent somewhere. I guess we could both go, but anything upward of 32°C becomes difficult for R, and June/July in Granada can reach 41/42 degrees. The Calima and, less frequently, the Sirocco bring 'blood rain' to the streets, Sahara dust to the lungs. Mum sent me photos of the last Calima this Spring. Granada looked like a city on the surface of Mars, lost in a sepia fog.
Meanwhile, if global warming continues this will all become the Costa del Forth!**
*Possibly an exaggeration.
** As is this.