Enola Devil lived alone

En route to the beach, I pass Lake Pertobe; so early in the morning, the water birds are out en masse, as are the council workers emptying the bins. As I drove past this morning, I saw a moorhen running, highstepping, with a hamburger wrapper in its beak, streaming behind it, chased by a young man in a safety vest, with a rubbish bag in one hand and a spike in the other. The moorhen was clearly winning.

I think my weather station is in its death throes. Even with a change of batteries, it's telling me gibberish. This is what it says the weather is like just now:



Do I need a hat and coat? Do I need sunglasses? How can I tell now without looking out the window?