Seasonal matters
Here in the Antipodes (why isn't the UK called the Propodes?) it is pretty much the middle of Winter: most days have a frosty start and there aren't many flowers around.
One good sign of Winter is the way the wombat that lives by the creek sits outside its burrow from lunchtime onwards on sunny days soaking up a few rays. I have also noticed that the anthills are getting seriously trashed, suggesting that echidnas are getting hungry. I saw the first one for several weeks this afternoon when the small dog went ballistic when up on the road for a walk: there was a spiny person hiding in a clump of wallaby grass.
Another sign of Winter is that the local sheep are multiplying rather swiftly. I was going to title this post "especially with mint sauce - apparently originally attributed to the wife of Sir Walter Scott, but now (ab)used by every blogger on Earth. However here is a piccie of one with its Mum.
The real sign of Winter is folk burning their heaps of crud that are too feral to compost and too much trouble to put in the house fire. I have had some difficulty getting the weather right (high humidity and no wind) on a day when I was home but 17 July was it. Herewith a set of pix, and accompanying cliches.
From little things, great burns may come.
No smoke without fire.
Who forgot the marshmallows?
After 90 minutes.
One good sign of Winter is the way the wombat that lives by the creek sits outside its burrow from lunchtime onwards on sunny days soaking up a few rays. I have also noticed that the anthills are getting seriously trashed, suggesting that echidnas are getting hungry. I saw the first one for several weeks this afternoon when the small dog went ballistic when up on the road for a walk: there was a spiny person hiding in a clump of wallaby grass.
Another sign of Winter is that the local sheep are multiplying rather swiftly. I was going to title this post "especially with mint sauce - apparently originally attributed to the wife of Sir Walter Scott, but now (ab)used by every blogger on Earth. However here is a piccie of one with its Mum.
The real sign of Winter is folk burning their heaps of crud that are too feral to compost and too much trouble to put in the house fire. I have had some difficulty getting the weather right (high humidity and no wind) on a day when I was home but 17 July was it. Herewith a set of pix, and accompanying cliches.
From little things, great burns may come.
No smoke without fire.
Who forgot the marshmallows?
After 90 minutes.
Comments
I have been puzzling over your "Propodes" idea for days (not much happening in Robertson, it seems!).
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Anyway, I checked out "antithesis", and the antonym of that is simply "thesis". Therefore we can call the other lot "Podes".
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In fact "antipodes" worksfor us and against them, perfectly well, but there are more of them than of us.
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So, lets go with "Podes". Seeing as it means "feet", that quite suffuiciently derogatory, don't you think?
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Cheers
Denis
I like it. From henceforth "that place" shall be officially known as the 'Podes'. Does that mean the inhabitants shall be Podestrians?
Martin
Just checking my inbox, and got your reply.
If they're annoying you , you could make it Poodestrians, just for emphasis!
Cheers
Denis