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The collected opinions of an august and aristocratic personage who, despite her body having succumbed to the ravages of time, yet retains the keen intellect, mordant wit and utter want of tact for which she was so universally lauded in her younger days. Being of a generation unequal to the mysterious demands of the computing device, Lady Bracknell relies on the good offices of her Editor for assistance with the technological aspects of her journal.

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Location: Bracknell Towers

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

To Norroway o'er the faem

Lady Bracknell, as her acquaintances cannot help but be aware, is not fond of hot weather. In fact, to say that she "is not fond" of it is an understatement somewhat akin to venturing the opinion that Young Master Marmite is not overly enamoured of carrots and that Mr Fork can take or leave broccoli.

Hot weather does not agree with her ladyship. For one thing, it causes her hands and feet to swell painfully. She is stout of figure and she is of Viking descent, a combination which renders her physiologically suited to colder climes than these. Norway, possibly.

(If Lady Bracknell may be permitted to digress for a moment, she has reminded herself of a story she was told last year. Apparently, one of our largest public sector employers has published internal guidance on something called the Intranet - Lady Bracknell gathers from her editor that this is something like the interwebnet, but containing rather less pornography - on the subject of measures to be taken when offices are uncomfortably hot. According to this helpful guidance, the susceptibility of employees to high temperatures will vary depending on their individual physiognomies. Which is a novel and entertaining concept and one which, Lady Bracknell suspects, could easily be turned into an amusing parlour game by an enterprising and imaginative person.)

If there is one thing which Lady Bracknell finds even more wearying than hot weather itself, it is the constant pressure (to which, naturally, she will not bend) to claim to be deriving enjoyment from it. As her ladyship's regular readers will no doubt recall from the entries she published on the subject of Christmas, Lady Bracknell has no wish to deprive anyone of his or her enjoyment of particular times of year or meteorological phenomena. But she really does take exception to the degree of personal affront displayed by certain individuals when she takes an opposing view.

In what precise way is their own enjoyment of hot weather diminished by discovering that Lady Bracknell would much prefer a crisp autumn morning to a broiling hot summer day? It is not as though there are any moral issues at stake here: Lady Bracknell is not barging in to a convention of vegans, brandishing a bloody haunch of venison. The conviction that hot weather is good is not one which was arrived at after years of ethical and philosophical wrangling: it is nothing more than a matter of personal taste.

Lady Bracknell is very fond of the colour blue. It is likely that, from time to time, she will meet persons whose favourite colour is red. If, upon hearing of this affection for red, Lady Bracknell begins by begging the lover of red to reconsider his or her ill-formed preference in light of the self-evident superiority of blue, and ends by taking offence because her interlocutor is immovable on the colour issue, she would hardly expect to be paid any sort of heed. But, of course, Lady Bracknell would not behave in such a manner because it does not matter a fig to her that somebody else's colour preferences are not in tune with her own.

And the next time someone asks her, "Oh, but how can you not like this glorious weather?", she will be tempted to respond in a less than civil manner.


Lady Bracknell has strayed more than somewhat from her original intentions in penning this entry. All that she had really meant to say was that the degree of welcome relief from the effects of uncomfortably high temperatures which can be gained by the simple expedient of having one's hair cut is astonishing.

7 Comments:

Anonymous aendr said...

hear hear

10:10 pm  
Blogger marmiteboy said...

'Oh, how can you not like this glorious weather?' ;-)

8:09 am  
Blogger Charlesdawson said...

Personally I find most types of weather enjoyable in one way or another, with the exception of heavy, persistent rain. I am just so glad to be here experiencing them.

8:57 am  
Anonymous Dude said...

I have to say that I agree most wholeheartedly with your Ladyship’s sentiment. Whilst I find most weather a detestable inconvenience to be endured only when strictly necessary, and would much rather live in a climate-controlled environment which is managed to exactly my own taste and no other’s, the summer months are particularly hateful and made all the more so by the insistence of those around that there must be something wrong with me if I don’t share their love of being bathed in carcinogenic ultra-violet light along with the intolerable heat. Why is lying on a foreign beach day after day “because it was just too hot to do anything else” considered by most to be the highpoint of their year? I have no idea, but I would at least hesitate before venturing to suggest that they might be sacrificing some other, more rewarding pastime by doing so. So why is it so strange to them that I would rather spend my leisure time in a shady ventilated room than roasting in the garden?

If, on the odd occasion that I venture outside for pleasure – as opposed to the damnable mandatory daily chore which is paid employment - I find that the ambient temperature is a little chilly, I don an extra layer or two and protect any extremities with the application of a thicker hat or gloves. However, when it is too hot (which, for me, is anything over about 65 degrees – Fahrenheit of course), there is a limit to how many garments I can remove in pursuit of cool comfort without running the risks of dazzling passing motorists with my high albedo, frightening the livestock or infringing local taste and decency byelaws.

Spring, of course, is far too wet and windy as a rule so, if forced to choose, I would tend to favour the Autumn - if it were not for the slippery leaves underfoot and the fact that it marks the onset of the begging (or thinly-veiled mugging) season so beloved of small children and their indulgent (but oh so protective) parents.

2:39 pm  
Blogger Sally's Life said...

I do not belong in this age when sun worship is universal; my comfort zone is among pale ladies in lawn (not grass) frocks, sipping lemonade under sunshades.
Preferably with a butler to carry it.

9:21 am  
Blogger pete said...

I entire agree with the Good Ladies views on the hot weather.

Now I have the song Mad Dogs and Englihmen running through my head for some reason.

Efharisto poli for the last thread;-)

12:27 pm  
Blogger Lady Bracknell said...

Tipota.

6:12 pm  

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