A Foggy Day

A common battle cry from my snow weary compatriots….”must be nice, summer all year long”.  The sweat drenched terror  of  enduring a dozen back to back fifty degree Celsius days means little to a man who has to dig his car out of a five foot snow drift.Then convince it to start in minus thirty two degrees.

My repeated attempts at climate education fall on ice plugged ears, “Falsehoods! Lies! Deceiver!” they scream with snow shovels and ice img_20161202_0705295scrappers raised….but there are actual seasons in India. A few of them unpleasant and inclement! (Monsoon season for example) I endure winter in India, the same as you, and while it is true there is no evidence of the crystallized precipitation we love so much in Canada (except in Shimla…and they can keep it!) we do have our own thick grey crosses to bear, best described in music by Mr. George and Ira Gershwin, nostalgically delivered in the haunting articulation of Old Blues Eyes himself, “A FFFFFFFFFFFoggy Day (Don’t get Nervous)……..”

“A Foggy Day (In London Town)”

As sung by Mr. Frank Sinatra


I was a stranger in the city

Out of town were the people I knew

I had that feeling of self-pity

What to do? What to do? What to do?

The outlook was decidedly blue

But as I walked through the foggy streets alone

It turned out to be the luckiest day I’ve known

A foggy day in London Town

Had me low and had me down

I viewed the morning with alarm

The British Museum had lost its charm

How long, I wondered, could this thing last?

But the age of miracles hadn’t passed,

For, suddenly, I saw you there

And through foggy London Town

The sun was shining.

And an Englishmen is happy when he’s

fighting for his Queen.



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A Canadian born Brit with a bad case of wanderlust