It's going to be a cold night in political hell on Monday...

I was drafting a piece for Liberal Democrat Voice to be published on Monday morning, and I was reminded that there's a pretty brutal weather system in America's Midwest at the moment.

So, I turned on the weather app on my phone and found this...

And that's in Celsius! Yes, on Monday, it's predicted to be no warmer than -19°C (-2°F) in Des Moines, the state capital of Iowa, where the first Republican caucuses are due to take place.

But is it likely to have any major effect?

You might reasonably argue that the more fanatical Republican activists will turn out regardless, but that urban delegates (perhaps more socially liberal) might be more likely to reach their caucus venues. Research published yesterday by the Washington Post suggests that Democrats are more deterred by bad weather than Republicans. But bad weather also depresses risk tolerance amongst voters.

I'm not sure what that means in a Trump/DeSantis/Haley contest. From a European perspective, Trump looks like the risky option, but he is the former President, after all, and so many American voters seem to have decided that Trump is a victim and not a criminal.

So, we'll see if Iowa throws us all a curveball in the early hours on Tuesday morning...

Creeting St Peter - the Chair goes forth into the snowy landscape...

Due to a slight mix-up between myself and our Clerk, I found myself with all of the Parish Newsletters, rather than just those for the core village - the Church Warden, Alice, usually delivers the outliers, which is very generous of her.

That meant that I rather felt that I ought to deliver themselves myself, but the distances involved required me to do so in two tranches - Clamp Farm and Creeting Hall in one walk, and the southern end in another.

And so, yesterday I trudged through the rain and murk, for neither rain nor snow, nor gloom of night shall stay the deliverer from his duty. Today offered more of a challenge though, what with the snow being swept in from Ukraine on a stiff easterly wind. But I’m a dogged soul, and besides, it gave me a chance to see how things were at that end of the Parish.

There will doubtless be those who, being less than usually generous, will assume that, as a card-carrying Liberal Democrat, I might have a motive to go out in such conditions. There are, after all, elections due in May, and my view as to the quality of service we get from our Conservative county councillor is not a tremendously high one. However, not only do I have no intention of running this year, but the Parish newsletter is decidedly non-political.

And besides, it provided a more than respectable reason for my 10,000 steps - I might as well do something both useful and healthy.

Properly wrapped up for the conditions, with waterproof trousers and the parka jacket I brought back from our Alaska cruise in 2019, it wasn’t too bad out, and with the roads as quiet as you might expect, the walking was pretty easy. A bit of early-seventeenth century music for voice and lute kept the spirits up too.

I did run into one of our residents, whom I had never actually met before, and we had an interesting (and socially distanced) chat on her doorstep. Reassuringly, given her isolated location, it turned out that one of my near neighbours is watching out for her, a reminder that, in our small village, the informal support network remains efficient.

So, another day in the life of a Parish councillor is completed. It isn’t all about shouting at each other over Zoom, you know...

North to Alaska, sorry, Portland...

We were tired of the cold of New Hampshire, so it was time to head north for the weekend, using the Amtrak Northeaster service, which runs between Boston’s North Station and Brunswick, Maine.

I am, I must admit, not hugely impressed by Amtrak. Their rolling stock is primitive by European standards, their locomotives underpowered and speeds embarrassingly low for the most part, which explains why Americans don’t use them much. And, upon arrival at the Dover Transportation Center, the news that there wasn’t any news about our train was slightly disturbing. It turned out that a switch had frozen near Exeter, New Hampshire, blocking the line, and trains were being rerouted. The previous train, due two hours earlier, was yet to arrive.

What to do? Portland is only an hour away by train, and not much further by car, and there was a debate about whether or not to drive. We were having the discussion when, good news, trains were moving and we would only lose twenty minutes or so.

One thing that must be said about Amtrak is that their carriages are warm and cosy, and you wouldn’t have guessed that it was minus 16 degrees outside. And so we made our way north, into Maine.

At Portland, I was surprised to notice that the platform is only really long enough to handle one carriage, thus all passengers exit the train through one set of doors. Portland is a terminal station but, like so much of Amtrak, is built to the cheapest scale imaginable, a rather bleak concrete platform with a little shelter and not much in the way of facilities. The only saving grace it has is that, as a Transportation Center, you can connect to long distance buses to further points across Maine and the surrounding States. But it’s quite a way from the downtown area, in a neighbourhood that doesn’t encourage walkers.

We grabbed a cab, driven by a friendly Sudanese guy, and headed for our hotel.

The Press Hotel is the former headquarters of the local newspaper, and is described as a “lifestyle boutique” hotel. I have no idea what this means, but there are newspaper references everywhere, old typewriters liberally distributed about the place, and interesting features abound. All very hipster...

It is, still, very cold...

I probably shouldn’t complain about the weather ever again...

Our trip to New England has been, I have to admit, unfavoured by the weather. We spent our five nights in Boston in the midst of the coldest week they’ve had since the winter of 1917/18, and whilst yesterday was rather nice here in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, today has seen the impact of what is called a ‘bomb cyclone’, producing 8-12 inches of snow in blizzard conditions.

Actually, I’ve quite enjoyed it for the most part.

Today, to make up for the general lack of snow in my life in recent years, I put on my hiking boots, wrapped up warmly, and set off for a walk through the town. The snow was already falling thickly at 10 a.m. but with the blizzard really expected to set in during the afternoon, and Ros of the view that I was possibly being a bit foolhardy, I thought it better to go out early.

The snow is fine and powdery, and whilst it hadn’t gotten too deep, it was actually pretty easy to walk on. There were a few people out and about, tightly wrapped against the cold, some with ski masks on, which I did wonder about. And, in town, whilst most of the shops had taken the decision to close for the day, there were still sufficient places to stop.

The town council staff were out, ploughing the roads, and even the pavements, so the traffic was still moving relatively freely. Me, I was in need of a warm drink.

Portsmouth is, slightly unexpectedly, a rather charming place. I say unexpectedly, because I’d never really given the New Hampshire Seacoast Region much thought. It has history, some great restaurants, charming architecture and great beer, and if it wasn’t for the foot or so of snow or the freezing cold, I’m guessing that I’d find a lot more here to enjoy.

So one might not be surprised to find that my sanctuary turned out to be a coffee shop called Kaffee VonSolln, specialising in German pastries - a little outpost of Mitteleuropa. I settled in for a while, having recovered from being hailed as Frank when I walked in. I don’t know who Frank is, but he’s clearly a man with good taste, as their hot chocolate was very good indeed...

Having thawed out, I set off to cross the World War Memorial Bridge towards Kittery, across the state line in Maine. The bridge is dedicated to the soldiers and sailors of New Hampshire and Maine who lost their lives in the First World War, and marks the period from 1917 to 1919. It was a bit breezy, but traffic was still moving alright, and the sidewalk was swept.

But I did have a mission, to buy lunch and bring it back to the hotel, so I meandered back into town, bought some sandwiches, potato chips and drinks, and headed through the snow...

Welcome to the icebox... a nation shivers...

I’ve seen in the New Year in Boston, home of the American Revolution, where the temperature has been stuck below -10 degrees Centigrade since we arrived. Add, or more accurately subtract, the wind chill, and it has usually felt like -20 or worse. Going out requires multiple layers, face masks, hats, gloves etc etc., which does lead you to ask the question, “is my journey really necessary?”. And the answer is, often, “no”.

Apparently, Boston hasn’t experienced such a spell of weather since 1872, which isn’t much of a consolation, it must be said.

Today, however, it has been time to head north, to New Hampshire’s Seacoast Region, more specifically, Portsmouth, home of a Naval Shipyard (they handle nuclear submarines, apparently). We took the Amtrak train from Boston’s North Station, the Downeaster, which runs between Boston and Brunswick, Maine, via Portland.

The train is slow but comfortable, with heating and decent wi-fi, which allowed me to catch up on events at home.

Portsmouth, at first sight, appears to be one of those quintessential small New England towns, very pretty and ordered, but full of interesting shops, bars and restaurants, and so the prospect of the temperature getting close to freezing tomorrow is excellent news.

As for our hotel, the Hotel Portsmouth is utterly charming. And whilst I expect to run into Angela Lansbury in the lobby, visiting an old friend before solving a murder, I’ll at least have the benefit of a good night’s sleep first...