Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Unless God send his hail Or blinding fire balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive.

Dear God,

I can cope with fireballs. Oh yes, I've encountered so many in my time.


 I'm fine with stifling snow. In fact, I would go so far as to say I LOVE it.

Tigger the Shetland, aged 30-something, looking for green bits

But please, PLEASE don't send any more sleet.


Sleet is horrible; sleet is my least favourite form of weather (and I LIKE weather); sleet is a poor excuse for Proper Snow; sleet should be BANNED.

I apologise for the minor rant. Robert Browning didn't seem to be bothered by sleet, but then he probably didn't have to spend two hours feeding, turning out, bringing in and generally caring for 27 horses in it, did he? (I expect he was curled up in front of a roaring fire, toasting crumpets and thinking poetic thoughts about Childe Roland coming to the dark tower.)

Certainly, whatever you choose to throw at me, I shall arrive, but it would be so much more pleasant a journey if you forgot you'd ever created SLEET.

Kind regards,

 Caroline