Winter has arrived. Yesterday afternoon a sudden squall blew in bringing with it a downpour of rattling hail and a bracing wave of frigid air from Siberia - the temperature fell from 28 to 14 degrees in half an hour. While we are complaining, the two boyz are in seventh heaven. This morning it is barely eight degrees and their Polish cold weather DNA has reasserted itself - they have rediscovered that boundless energy of puppyhood and are flying across the fields enjoying the arctic conditions. The removal men are doing a great job. A quarter of the house is now echoingly bare, a half in a state of chaos, and the final quarter still bearing some resemblance to a home.
We have a bit of a problem with the packers. For some reason Digby has taken a violent dislike to one of them. We simply can't work it out. He ignores all the others, but with this one guy he becomes a fifteen inch tall growling, snarling ,horrible aggressive beast. Naturally,Wilf is happy to play with them all. We wonder if the packer doesn't remind him of one of the robbers.
I was able to save the 'fonts' clothing yesterday but the bulk of mine had disappeared into those strange hanging wardrobes that packers use. This morning I am therefore combating the cold by wearing the top from a pair of British Airways pyjamas under my shirt. In addition I have come across a marvellous pair of 'combat pants' that belong to a younger Angus. In future I shall only ever wear combat pants - I can carry a monkey wrench, a can of WD40, the car keys, twine, a pair of pliers ,and still have pockets left over. The 'font' has so far not commented on my attire - the imminent arrival of the packers being a helpful distraction. Let's just hope that I'm not expected to go to any fancy restaurants on the journey to France - I fear that I shall have to rely on liberated 'younger Angus' clothing which may raise eyebrows when adorning the older Angus figure.