Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that da de da de da
That's right, the bloody fogs are on us again. This morning I couldn't see beyond the bottom hedge, and even now, mid-morning, I can only just make out the horses' arses in the field below mine.
When I started teaching at the Bournemouth Eurocentre (significantly a Swiss organisation with a preponderance of Swiss students), I was disturbed to see the description of the lovely seaside town of Bournemouth included the phrase verhältnismäßig Nebelfrei. Talk about damning with faint praise! Mind you, I quite like it as a way of describing my brain - "relatively fog-free". Well, it WAS true once upon a time....