Fog

The weather forecast on my home page says fog- but my memory goes back to the 1950s when everyone burned coal. Then we had fog. Fog as in Dickens and Conan Doyle- raw and dank and sulphurous- with visibility down to a yard or two and the traffic going at a walking pace.  I've known nothing like it since. By comparison what I'm seeing out the window this morning is a light mist.

Three Completely Unrelated Things

The brutalist 1960s bus station in Preston has been saved from demolition. The relevant Minister just slapped a Grade II preservation order on it. I'm not sure I like it myself, but it's a remarkable building- and I think we should hang on to it for the sake of our children's children who may well have a taste for that sort of thing- just as we have a taste for the 19th century buildings our grand-parents hated.

I was pleased to see that- according to the RSPB- the decline in the number of house sparrows has been halted.

There are masses of daddy-long-legs around. Last time I checked there were two living in our bedroom. Their long trailing legs are designed to get snagged in spiders' webs- which is exactly what happens.