It is cold here, has been for days, weeks, months. Apart from the odd sunny day that warms my flat and has me feeling oh so happy even if it means sometimes searching for shade. Today was just such a day.
We English are rather feeble when it comes to the weather - any extremes have us moving sloth-like in all directions adding to the general chaos of our country. Our infrastructure (personal and societal) struggles to cope if its exceptionally hot or cold (would that be more than a ten degree differential around seventy fahrenheit?) dry or wet. I have the skin of an Irish girl by descent - it burns in the mildest of sun, turns blue in the slightest chill, white in the snow. Hence my need to be covered at all times whether I want to be or not. It seems especially unfair now that age has added deep red (sun or no sun) to my skin's colour range - although thinking about it perhaps not, my body has taken on the colours of my adopted country's flag.
In the process of trying to sort out some of the stuff rescued from a rubbish tip destiny I was delighted to re-discover a bottle given to me by a lovely Italian visitor last year. Still in its unopened see-through customs packaging (and following the instructions means that it cannot be opened)
it seemed to have swollen rather. It suddenly came to me that the swelling must be the Italian air that was originally trapped in the bag when it was sealed - why is it swelling, is it multiplying? Whatever the reason had it not been growing it quite likely wouldn't have been noticed. My delight in finding this expanding bag that I can't bring myself to open, containing a rather interesting bottle of Limoncello, was heightened when realising that my flat has contained warm Italian air all through the winter.