Jen and I invented a useful new word yesterday: muggerty.
It was one of those mornings when you wake up full of good intentions, meaning to get lots of little jobs done around the house (with a bit of gardening thrown in for good measure, perhaps). But, as we looked out of the window over breakfast, it became quite clear that not one of those little jobs was going to get done. It was cold, and wet and horrible, you see. Not quite windy enough to be described as blustery, but pretty damn close. And it looked as if the weather was there to say. It was the sort of day where you turn the central heating back on, having turned it off for what you believed would be the entire summer only a week earlier. It was the sort of day where you decide to light a fire and sit in front of it all day, drinking tea. And, because you know you're going to be there for the duration, you decide to drink large mugs of the stuff, rather than the usual cups. Mugs are much more comforting than cups on days like that.
"It's a mug-of-tea sort of day," I observed to Jen, draining my second mug of the morning.
"Yes, very muggerty," agreed Jen.