Cold Comfort

It has now been Winter For Ever. The Double Double Daylight Saving Scheme (as we have now elected to call it after a lengthy chat with the Scots over a Yard of Whiskey, during which it was also decided that if the people of Kent continued to harp on about being only 25 minutes from Another Time Zone, they should be Sliced Off from the mainland and made to paddle their county to France and see if they will be Let In 'we bring you Oast Houses, and Maidstone, Birthplace of McKenzie Crook...') is in place. It has been adopted solely to give us time to Dress and Undress at the beginning and end of the day. Every one North of Manchester is effectively Disenfranchised until it Warms Up, surely. The Southerners will be rushing through Bills banning Northumbrian Dancing and Shortbread. Amongst my  Favourite Horror of the Freeze Stories was Newcastle Council 'reminding drinkers to put a coat on.' What's the Moral Stance on Ethnic Cleansing by Omission of the Cracking Obvious? Also, the parents whose kids were 'stranded' at school- i've tried, they weren't having any of it- after they dropped them off, 'turned their cars around as the weather worsened, and then discovered They Were Stuck.' Even allowing for the drop-off run to be, say, from here to Biddulph and to involve a Ferry navigated by a Strange Beardy Guy in a Rusty Cloak, i think there's a  Notable level of Stupidity on display here. Perhaps the snow had got clumped coming out of the cloud and all fell in a Heap, like Bad Custard. Drawing on the Wide Pool of Figures available to me, from the Accidents and Injuries that have befallen my own Hapless Children, people are in less Danger from Frost than from Kitchen Utensils. Especially Ladles. Beware the Ladle. Not only is it capable of Inflicting Damage on a Small Chap, should he fall on it, Face-First, but then you have to explain the Crescent Shaped Bruise to others, for weeks and weeks. Often you also have to Explain A Ladle. Right, i can type No More, my fingers will freeze to the Keyboard.  There will be nothing left for it, then, but to Submit Me as an Installation to the Turner Prize Committee: 'AP, Silenced At Last.'