Salutations, stranger, from the centre of the sunless city. I hail from a hateful hamlet in the province of precipitation, homeplace of the pompous parliament and residence of the refined royals.
With the distraction of the summer season, I had unfortunately forgotten about the arctic accompaniment to the windy winter weather so hard to withstand in this chilly country where fall is forgotten. The bleak and biting cold in this gloomy, greyish gulf is unbearable and unwelcoming at best. At this point I think it is necessary to state that the apallingly annoying amount of alliteration is acutely atypical of my normal use of language. Please note that I mean normal for me, which may be described as completely and utterly abnormal to everyone else.
Anyway, what was I on about? Ah, yes. The weather. Tis a fine thing to discuss, weather. We Englishwomen enjoy discussing weather, often at teatime over slightly-burnt, overly-buttered crumpets and too-strong, too-bitter tea. For those who live in the lesser countries around the world, no one ever does that anymore.
With all this unnecessary small-talk, I have quite forgotten the purpose of this post. Hmmm... Perhaps my brain has been dislodged by all this pounding wind and rain, and is now sloshing around inside my head like gravy gone cold. In other news, my older sister, Almond, has recently returned from her travels in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, where she learnt the craft of knife-making from Clayton, a family friend who lives in the aforementioned region. He taught her, I imagine, with much patience, and after hearing hundreds of tales of her travels for their hundredth times, I gathered that she rather enjoyed herself and was eager to learn the craft of knife-making.
Since I've forgotten what I meant to write, I might as well just post this and try and remember another day, and anyone who knows me should completely understand the absurdity of my forgetfullness.
Yours Forgetfully,
Katie J.
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