Mrs Hamilbutton has gone to perform at a gig, so I'm at home. On my own. I don't smoke any more, so that avenue of enjoyment is out of the window (still miss a smoke though. Sigh.) There's sod all on tele (unless you like Strictly Come Dancing) so I'm riding the crest of the digital wave, finding interesting stuff. And here's the first one of tonight, a tip-top mash up by Wax Audio (bless you, sir or madam) of Pink Floyd and the Bee Gees. It shouldn't work. It bloody does.
Feel that sudden chill in the air? It’s winter, heading this way. Or you’ve left the fridge door open. One of those, definitely. According to people with the word ‘meteorologist’ somewhere in their job title, it has been the driest September since records began. Hardly surprising, really – the wettest winter on record immediately beforehand almost certainly used up all the available rain in the sky early (Note to self: check the sciencey stuff, it doesn’t sound quite right). With just 20% of the normal rainfall of the most Septembery of months, 2014 trounced the previous record holder, good old 1959. Whilst this may have led to less plump courgettes, and parched blue tits mugging you for your bottle of mineral water, it does have a beneficial side-effect: Your granddad will finally have to stop saying “Dry? You don’t know what dry is! When I were but a lad...” Clearly disappointing for grandpops, especially so soon after the “Wet winter? Pah! When I were but a lad...” sto...
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