CUSTARD WIND A cold, north-easterly has blown my Christmas pudding cold. MOOR-GALLOP Emily Brontë runs from a sudden squall on the moors. ROKE The fog is so thick even the trees can’t see each other. DINDEREX A thunder-axe of lightning bolts across the countryside. RAINING OLD WOMEN AND STICKS The nosy old neighbour watches heavy […]
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