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September 28th 2010    Tim Candler

    Too many diversions into "Why didn't I".  It is the nature of impending cold, because this is hot buttered toast season.  A sense of white bread and Marmite, rather than of refreshment from rosy cheeks and a cold nose on bones made brittle by heat.  I could quite happily remain supine until the Daffodils.   

    I really have to find a season-less place to live, because every year  it is the shock of change that sets the reverse gear.   I look at forty eight degrees Fahrenheit and purpose leaves me.   A more pointless temperature I cannot conceive of.

    But where to go.   Cabo San Lucas almost touches the Tropic of Cancer, but it looks like holiday people desperate for happiness and sand, and to live there I would have to unite with yet another passport, wait tables and pretend to care. 

     Call it whatever you want to, but wearing socks and jumpers cannot be natural.    Moles of course love this sort of weather, and it's perfect for dividing perennials, so more likely I belong to the family of annual.

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