I live in a damp, damp place.
The air is damp. The ground is damp. Even the light is damp.
When you walk through our neighborhood, the damp makes the trees a deeper, more pungent black and the contrasting sky more thin and... escaping, somehow. Like oil and water. The damp settles down, nesting over Sheffield, while the sky and air dodge and whistle between clouds and puddles. This damp can make you feel bedraggled, soggy, and woebegone, especially if it comes at you from all angles as some evil precipitate sent by God to punish you for the sins of your fathers. Those days I stay inside, nursing my tea and wondering what will become of us all.
But the damp can also be cozy and generative.
But the damp can also be cozy and generative.
Flowers bloom and throw their fragrance at passing strangers in mid-February. The streets smell of old stone walls and crafty, crafty earth that is scheming away beneath your unknowing feet. And moss covers absolutely everything. There are moss-laden walls, crumbling beneath the weight of time and heavy, water-logged air. Moss creeps up flowerpots and over gates. It covers driveways and sidewalks. It blankets all of the trees.
I have never seen so much moss in all of my life. I think that I could acquire a moss-coat of my own, were I to sit still for long enough. Provided, of course, that I didn't mind the damp seat.
You wouldn't think, with all of this moisture, that Britain could ever suffer from lack of water. But only last summer the balmy South was struggling to hydrate all of its thirsty people, lawns, and toilets. Some people suggest that this shortage was/is due to the Victorian infra-structure of pipes and reservoirs that now leak almost as much as they provide. Even if this is so, what becomes of the leaked water? Surely it is not spirited away to some other country with too many golf courses? Doesn't it just seep back into the water table? Perhaps it is a logistical problem. I don't know. One of life's deep ironies.
As a side note, Andrew has a new web page for you all to admire. It is mostly work-based, (i think) so that potential employers can find out just how fabulous he is simply by means of Google. For any and all who are interested in the fabulousness of my fiancé, the link is now on the sidebar. If any of you have your own web pages and wouldn't mind, could you please post a link to Andrew's work page? It raises the profile of the page and increases the likelihood that the right people will stumble across it. I guess this is the new version of 'who you know'. Thanks.
You wouldn't think, with all of this moisture, that Britain could ever suffer from lack of water. But only last summer the balmy South was struggling to hydrate all of its thirsty people, lawns, and toilets. Some people suggest that this shortage was/is due to the Victorian infra-structure of pipes and reservoirs that now leak almost as much as they provide. Even if this is so, what becomes of the leaked water? Surely it is not spirited away to some other country with too many golf courses? Doesn't it just seep back into the water table? Perhaps it is a logistical problem. I don't know. One of life's deep ironies.
As a side note, Andrew has a new web page for you all to admire. It is mostly work-based, (i think) so that potential employers can find out just how fabulous he is simply by means of Google. For any and all who are interested in the fabulousness of my fiancé, the link is now on the sidebar. If any of you have your own web pages and wouldn't mind, could you please post a link to Andrew's work page? It raises the profile of the page and increases the likelihood that the right people will stumble across it. I guess this is the new version of 'who you know'. Thanks.
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