Dateline: 21
st January 2024.
I’m not keen on winter. Let me clarify that. I dislike winter. It’s cold, dark, wet, miserable – and did I say cold? The days are short, the nights are long. If I could I would be more than happy to stay in my warm, cosy bed and hibernate beneath the duvet with Mab the cat curled on top of me, hotty-botty hot water bottle at my feet and Teddy Bear snuggled beside me. (Teddies are amazingly warm!)
The butler (husband Ron) can bring me bacon sandwiches and cups of tea, and the biscuit tin will always, magically, stay filled with chocolate digestives. And while I’m creating the wish list: lots of good entertainment on the TV. The last wish is sadly lacking at the moment.
I diligently take my Vitamin D tablets to ward of S.A.D – Seasonal Affected Disorder. The medication works, sort of, but sitting here at my desk looking out the window as Storm Isha comes rampaging in from the west, like the wicked witch in the Wizard Of Oz, the feeling of deep gloom cannot be entirely overcome. I’ll dig out my red shoes and hope a house (empty and not mine) falls on Isha before she does too much damage.
The hills over the back beyond the Taw Valley are rapidly disappearing into a thick mist of pouring rain. The wind is sounding like a train hurtling through a railway station, the trees, especially the huge Silver Birch at the lower right-hand corner of the orchard, is doing a fair imitation of an over-enthusiastic aerobics tutor determined to get that bend more supple. I hope the ash trees and oaks do okay, although they should be all right without their canopy of leaves.
Question: how do birds manage to fly in a gusting, bordering on gale-force wind? The fat balls and peanuts feeders outside the window have at least twelve long-tailed tits on them at the moment, the woodpecker comes in every so often; the blue tits and great tits have their turn. The sparrows and dunnocks and blackbirds prefer the goodies on the bird table, all partaking of filling their tummies as evening draws in earlier than usual because of the rotten weather. As dusk falls there is a lot of twittering and squabbling going on outside. Birds vying for the best sheltered spots I assume.
The full force of Isha is yet to come. Candles: tick. Matches: tick. Water carrier filled: tick. Log fire lit: tick. Hatches battened: tick.
I think the idea of hibernating sounds a good idea.
Apparently,when the ground is frozen with frost and ice, to save the embarrassment (and pain) of a fall, one is supposed to walk like a penguin.
I don’t think this means do a Dick van Dyke as in Mary Poppins by pulling the trousers down to half mast and performing a waddle-dance (unless you want a laugh, that is.) The idea is to keep the centre of gravity over your feet as much as possible, so bend the knees slightly and point your feet outward, hold your arms out to the side. Keep flat footed and waddle along.
In theory you won’t fall. Please don’t complain to me
if it doesn’t work.
Penguins outside of zoos, live entirely in the southern hemisphere, so no worries about them being eaten by Polar Bears.
The word ‘penguin’ first appeared at the end of the 16th century. European explorers discovering what is now known as a penguin thought they looked similar to the northern hemisphere’s Great Auk, so transferred the popular name for the auk – ‘penguin’, although neither species is related. (I know, it’s complicated!)
Popular myth (and the Oxford English Dictionary) assumes the word comes from Welsh (pen gwyn) meaning ‘white head’. One does have to question this though. I’ve always thought that penguins have black heads and white tummies so ‘Pendu’ would be more appropriate (black head). The Great Auk was first seen on White Head Island in Newfoundland, though to name a bird after its location is a tad lacking in imagination, I think.
Alternatively, etymology can link the word to Latin pinguis, which means 'fat' or 'oil' and the Germanic word for penguin is fettgans– 'fat-goose'. I like that one the best.
A group of penguins whilst on land is a ‘waddle’ but in the water they are a raft. Either way, in water or out, Welsh or Germanic, to suggest ‘waddling on ice like a fat goose’ does not, perhaps, sound quite so appealing.
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Until next time - unless I get blown away by Isha.
Late entry:
Survived storm Isha. Now to battle the next one, Jocelyn,
that's due to cause an unwanted nuisance…