I was reading some of the interesting clippings from UK papers that my father sends me, and one of note was the dreadful winter of 1947… the year I was born.
Naturally I remarked to the wife that you’d think I’d remember something that dire even at such a young age.
Being the mathematician she is, she reminded me that I was born at the end of 1947 so the winter in question was the previous one and that the time I was conceived, sometime in February when temperatures were dropping to -20ºC, my parents must have been so cold they needed something to do to get warm!
Apart from the ‘ewww’ factor I just accepted it, but she was actually right as it happens. I’d assumed “The Winter of 1947” ran from 1947 into 1948, and not as she rightly established from ‘1946 into 1947’ so I *wasn’t* around to enjoy the benefits of sub-zero temperatures, frozen water pipes, massive rationing etc.
My parents were however. And after all… what else was there to do Arctic conditions but huddle together under the blankets and do what comes naturally?? 😀
I’m not complaining… I’m here aren’t? Well according to Descartes I must be or I wouldn’t be asking… would I?