The relis always arrive at the Old Manse ostentatiously shivering,smothered in fleeces,scarves, gloves and muttering 'bloody cold' through blue lips and with chattering teeth. And that in August. London, by contrast, is by definition warm. A given as academics would say. But I have to say Palmers Green, N13, is bloody cold on stilts. Oh for the Rayburn.the wood stove, the warmly purring cat, the comforting whir of fan heaters. Here the central heating is either off or on. Tropicana or Artic ice pack. And the pond in Broomfield Park is hard frozen, as hard as the ice in the bird path on the Old Manse patio. The latter you expect, the former not or so London habitues would lead you to believe.
Season to be jolly? Not if you judge by the long glum faced ones packing the pavements. Eyes downcast, glowering at the cracks and the long discred chewing gum and barging their way through the mass of humanity with not an 'excuse me'between them. Say 'sorry' for accidentaly almost touching someone and expect a snarl in response. Not at all like friendly Hutton-where it is very difficult to shove someone off a pavement, accidentally or no. Hutton does not lack much-but someones can be few and far between.
Not like Fishwick in the rush hour.
