Well, January is the month to be glum, and thanks to the train strikes, we’re all being glum from home.

Nothing works. And to prove it, some of us are stopping work. So while the rain rains – and it is – and the wind howls – and it was – we’re moaning. We do pause occasionally. Recently it’s been to fret about the brotherly I-said-you-said, soundbites-at-dawn storm, that’s swirled our way. We’re still writing the chorus for that, and it’s proving darkly occupying.

This morning I was wondering whether any whales passing these islands can hear our song? And if so, what it sounds like? I imagine it sounds like a miserable humming, with crescendos here and there as we add the woes of others to our own. Perhaps that’s why there aren’t many whales around here – too glum. Although maybe not for walruses.

Thor, a fine young male, turned up in Scarborough at New Year. He didn’t stay long though, which leaves me thinking perhaps he’d been sent by the whales on some sort of reconnaisance mission to find out what’s going on.

Hope there’s a cheerful noise where you are.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023