We’ll Weather the Weather…

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Algy found himself a perch in a tree by the lochside and gazed out across the moody water. The weather was growing wild and stormy again, and very soon there would be more rain. He could scarcely remember a day when it hadn’t rained, although he knew that once upon a time the sun used to shine, at least from time to time, and there had occasionally been whole weeks when one dry day followed another. He wondered whether this year was just an anomaly, or whether it would now rain for evermore in the wild west Highlands of Scotland. He was reminded of an old rhyme, which he started to sing at the top of his voice, in defiance of the weather, and for the benefit of any passer by who might happen to be listening:

Whether the weather be fine
Or whether the weather be not,
Whether the weather be cold
Or whether the weather be hot,
We’ll weather the weather
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not.

Flaming June…

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For days and days and days – that felt like weeks and months and years – the dense Scotch mist had smothered the West Highlands of Scotland with a dark and exceedingly thick wet blanket. Algy had heard a distant rumour that this would be the hottest, sunniest weekend of the year to date… in the UK…

So, in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of the year, Algy perched on a dripping fence post and studied the moss growing on top of the post in front of him. As most of the world had vanished, it was almost all he could see, but he was glad to discover that at least some things seemed to thrive in these conditions…

Flaming June, they call it.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse, but Algy was in high spirits because his second book was very nearly ready to publish. So he fluffed up his feathers, perched on a wet rock, and sang a happy song, while the wind blew rain, hail and sleet into his face with considerable gusto…

Algy hopes that you will all be in good spirits this weekend, and will be able to sing a happy song in the face of any adverse weather conditions 🙂

Algy left the beautiful, sheltered garden and flew back home, where he found as fine an example of Flaming June as you could hope to see… He perched on a patch of prostrate juniper, which was clinging as closely as it could to a damp rock, and gazed out across the peat bog in the whistling wind, keeping his head tucked well down to avoid the worst effects of the driving Scotch mist. He had to concede that in view of the fact it was nearly midsummer, the weather was a wee bit disappointing for the time of year…

Algy was getting fed up with waiting around while his assistant finished the production work on his book. She was too busy to assist him with his adventures, and the weather was dreadful too: it was cold, wet and windy, and spring still hadn’t fully sprung. It really wasn’t any fun at all.

So Algy decided to go in search of some bright flowers to cheer himself up. He flew over to an old garden that he knew, where – despite the weather – there were many beautiful azaleas and rhododendrons in bloom. Perching in a tree beside one of the most fragrant azaleas, he was thrilled when a moment’s sunshine lit up the flowers.

Algy hopes that moments of sunshine will brighten your weekend too, even if the weather is gloomy where you are 🙂 Have a happy, relaxing weekend, everybody xoxo

Everything was utterly wet. The sea was wet, of course, but also the rocks were wet, the creatures on the rocks were wet, the seaweed was wet, the sand was wet, and the air was wet. There was nothing in Algy’s world that was not wet. The wind had come and gone (for the moment), and left nothing but wetness behind. It had started to rain again the moment that it stopped blowing, and it was unlikely to stop in a hurry…

But as Algy perched on the the wet, seaweedy rock, he reflected that it was a great deal better to have an abundance of water than to have too little, and he felt desperately sorry for those parts of the world which so urgently needed the water he could not send them. Algy hopes and prays that your parched lands will receive at least some of the wetness which is so plentiful here in the West Highlands of Scotland. xoxo

In the wild West Highlands of Scotland, spring arrives reluctantly – if indeed it can be said to arrive at all. Although the winter is rarely very cold, spring is hardly distinguishable from winter except in the rapidly lengthening hours of daylight. Temperatures creep up exceedingly slowly, and it’s often the case that March and April are scarcely warmer than January. So Algy was not exactly surprised when the mist, wind and rain returned after a few days of bright but cool sunshine. As he sat shivering on the damp rocks with the cold wind streaming through his hair, he dreamed idly of islands in the sun and palm-fringed beaches, and wondered whether a fluffy bird would be happy in a tropical paradise. Perhaps even a sub-tropical paradise would do…