None of those things have yet to come to pass in what is the most unseasonably mild winter ever known in Canada (as far as I know), but I have succumbed to that most English of Canadian stereotypes: a preoccupation with the weather that borders on obsession.
The difference, of course, is that Anglo weather chat is little more than an ice breaker. "What a lovely day!" strangers in lifts will sarcastically remark of the pouring rain, keen to lift the shared silence. Canadian meteorological exchanges, on the other hand, are a matter of life and death. No blanket, shovel and cat litter in your car boot? Then you're not just breaking the law (I think) - you're asking for the cold embrace of Death himself. You idiot.
With such concerns paramount in the kind Canadian species, weather is never far out of mind. "Cold enough for ya, eh?" strangers will cheerfully exclaim from passing SUVs, their humanitarian magnanimity expressed as a wide-grinning broadside as you shiver uncontrollably in the bus queue.
While it's a very pleasant five degrees today (check out my cushty weather widget on the right), snow is forecast for the weekend, and a walk to the beach last week brought to my eyes a scene as shocking as the Planet Of The Apes climax: THE SEA HAD FROZEN! (Disclaimer: the sea had not frozen)
So, like John Cabot painting a vivid picture of the frozen wastelands of the Northwest Passage for a disbelieving Henry VII, contain your amazement at the following scenes of Arctic attrition at a Rouge Hill inlet on Lake Ontario. Next time: curling!
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| Just about discernible: a gaggle of hockeyists |
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| The ebb and the flow... STILLED |
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| Un-bloody-believable, I know |
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| Surf: frozen. Sand: ice-pocked. Sun: scant comfort. |
