A bad case

I was in a bad temper for much of last week. Did you notice?

By Saturday, I decided I should try to figure out why. I finally realised it was critical when I was brusque on the phone with someone totally undeserving of brusqueness; and when ALL the characters in my favourite soaps were annoying me, not just the usual suspects  (such as the new Tony in The Archers).

My life is relatively easy, and although we have suffered the vile vile wind and rain for weeks, we have not been flooded, so a bad mood was not justified. Why on earth was I dyspeptic? Was it:

1/ a tantrum at my car being scrapped and my having to drive around in Dave’s car (which I am struggling to get used to)

2/ not being able to decide whether to buy another car of my own (and if so, should it be new or used?) when we ought to be able to manage with just one, anyway…

3/ was it because I have not been away anywhere at all for more than three months and I am sick of the same old, same old?

4/ was it about something more fundamental, namely hating getting old

5/ or was it simply a severe case of February-itis?

I suspect it is the latter. Long time readers of the blog will know that by the middle of February I am usually climbing the walls. The absence of snow and ice has made the winter a little easier to bear, but the long term greyness has been just as bad. And I haven’t yet moaned about February this year, have I?

February is foul. February is the calendar equivalent of the early hours. To quote from Fleur Adcock’s poem, Things,

“…It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.”

I HATE FEBRUARY!

There, that’s better.

Now, here is a nice pic of the Bakewell Bridge over the Wye that I took in another February:

and here’s another bridge (plus the personnel in the foreground) I’ll see in two weeks time – YAY!  

p.s. If you think I am petted and spoiled and far too moany to be nice – say it. It is surely true.