Cold Comfort Farm by Jan Needle (no relation)
Where’s this ruddy spring, that’s what I want to know. It’s been a long, gruelling winter what with one thing and three others, and I’ve had just about enough of it. Packed the grandkids and their ma n pa off to some damn theme park or another today, and it’s so cold out (Pennines/Lancashire/Yorkshire border) that they’d have been better off staying in bed. Not that they’ll think that, of course. I can remember days at Alton Towers (not where they’re going; apparently they charge £20 a day for the use of a wheelchair, which sadly now is needed for one of Spring is sprung? Come to't sunny north! the party) when it rained so hard the waterproofing of my skin gave up and I filled me wellies from the inside by osmosis. Honest! You ask Donald Trump. And the children? They never noticed it. Just demanded more ice cream… Talking of wellies, my darling Mac rendered it as ‘willies’ both the first time I typed it, then again just then (which is po...