You can’t beat a good, old fashioned British bank holiday, can you? Soaring temperatures, people out in their million hordes in beer gardens and generally having a gay old time, as the Flintstones used to say. Well, here in South Gloucestershire the sun was out all right. The trouble is it was hiding behind some dark clouds which decided to piss all over us, so to speak. The best we could manage was a drive to the Elmwood Nursery and Garden Centre on the Westerleigh Road.
When we got there, unseasonable denim jeans and a raincoat were not enough to keep the elements away. I was frozen and wet.
The car temperature showed a heady 9c as we got out of the car, but it felt much colder than that. I’d say with added wind chill, it was nearer to -9c. My partner bought a plant which was taller than us and we drove home again.
As with some pubs, my local, the Beaufort Arms, is open outside only. There were two people sitting at the front and two at the side. I suppose you could admire their durability: I thought they were completely mad. Worse than that, the couple at the front by the road, dressed like Nanook of the North, were drinking what appeared to be soft drinks. Now, I know I like a drink as much as the next man or woman, rather more if the truth be known, but why on earth would you risk frostbite and pleurisy for the sake of a glass of cola? At the very least, I’d want at least a pint and a warming spirit. That would be worth suffering for.
That’s the trouble with Britain. You never know what the weather is going to do. In recent years, we have had days in February when it’s been warm enough to sit in the garden. Today, it’s barely warm enough to leave the house.
