It’s official. I don’t like November. I dislike the fireworks (see previous blog entries) and I don’t like the wet, cold, windy weather that dominates the month. November typifies all that is unpleasant about the British climate. It’s cold, without the prettiness of frost. It’s wet, but the promise of spring flowers is so distant that the rain is unwelcome. It’s windy, but because of the aforementioned rain, you can’t get out there and let the wind rosy up your cheeks – you just end up peering through wet spectacles whilst trying to remove the soaking strands of hair that are wrapped across your face. November saps enthusiasm for everything except for duvets and doughnuts, and the apathy it breeds permeates every aspect of your life. No wonder our ancestors established winter festivals. Could we really get to March without Yule in between?