The Other Man's Grass*

We've got no heating and no hot water at the moment. Needless to say, it's Bleak House round our way. We're relying on coal fires and the boiling of the kettle for all our needs. It's like the Forties.

My Dad told me about how when he was younger, it would be so cold that water in vases would freeze. This is something I've been thinking of when I've been waking up every day this week. Still, it'll be fixed on Friday, hopefully.

If you want a warm feeling, just think of Petula Clark. I saw a very interesting programme about her the other day. I never really think of her when I think of the great women singers of the Sixties. Cilla, Dusty, Lulu, Sandie, yes, but somehow Pet's in a class of her own. I forgot how many (good) songs I knew, and also how she was really big in France. I presume she's made a lot of money.

So walking down into the town at lunchtime today, as the biting wind attacked my extremeties, I whistled I Know A Place, and somehow, I was warm again.

Until later.

* Yes, it's a Pet sound.