Nothing Much

I am currently in a state of self pity and sorrow cuddled up in my bed, with my room lit only by the light of my laptop screen and side lamp. In other words; I feel sad. It has hit me how incredibly inconsistent I am as I have failed this blog massively. To run a successful blog is to post regularly and keep your readers in the know, neither of which I do. Instead of rambling on about sadness and apologies, I am going to do what British people do best and write about the weather.

Thunder is caressing the hills of Southern England and an atmosphere of societal tension is arising. Even from the small, dark room in which I lay I can almost hear the elders tutting and the children squealing in sight of the gigantic flashes of lightening. Storms have hit Devon in the most beautiful way possible: not at all then all at once.
I sit motionless beside my window, gazing out through the condensation and mist as Ingrid Michaelson sings quietly through my laptop. The roar of the outdoors beckons me to enjoy it fully, as if I should be dancing in the rain and waltzing in the wind. I have always thought that there is nothing quite like the Devonshire weather in the midst of cold January. A certain eeriness is forever present. That is what I liked. The world seemed different for a matter of days, even if that different was the definition of local friction.