Cold, cold, cold. Rain, rain, rain. Gave up and wore extra extra and more extra warm clothes today.
Someone told me a joke at lunch, about people going to the pearly gates to be sorted between heaven and hell. St. Peter (or whoever does the job) was making three piles.
Knowing that one pile was for heaven and one was for hell, St. Pete (or whoever) was asked why the third pile. He replied:
“Oh, those are from Nova Scotia. Too wet to burn.”