Collective Nouns for Humans in the Wild

With thanks to radiantfracture for introducing me to this poem by Kathy Fish, whom I had not previously met:

A group of grandmothers is a tapestry. A group of toddlers, a jubilance (see also: a bewailing). A group of librarians is an enlightenment. A group of visual artists is a bioluminescence. A group of short story writers is a Flannery. A group of musicians is — a band.

It gets less happy.

The Beast from the East

I don't know where this nickname came from, or how it caught on. There's nothing exceptional about wintery weather coming from the east, is there? Yet every weather forecast seems to be using it, so I was braced for blustery winds and stinging snow pellets lashing against the windows. But this is a stealth beast. We woke yesterday to that light and silence that say, even before you open the curtains, that the world is blanketed in snow - and more has been falling steadily ever since. We've had big feather flakes of snow, and a fine white powder, almost a mist, all falling without a sound, straight down, none of that horizontal stuff. The most drama we've had was this morning, a couple of flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder (the word 'thunderstorm' means rain to me, not snow, and summer rain at that. We live and learn.)

It's a big beast, all right, but a comparatively tranquil one: though this assessment is brought to you by someone who hasn't ventured outside the door further than it took to bring in the milk. The milk delivery got through, and so, more surprisingly, did the paper: other things are being cancelled all around us.

durham_rambler's meeting went ahead yesterday morning, although the Council officer who was supposed to attend couldn't get there; I decided against taking the train into Newcastle for my reading group; durham_rambler's meeting this morning was cancelled, as was the talk we had failed to get places for. The pub quiz is on, as is his meeting tomorrow morning. Whether I can manage the walk down to hill to the pub is an open question (I'm better uphill than down, so confident that if I can get there, I can get home again).

First, though, there is the rubbish to be taken down to the bin, and the bin put out. Will the bin lorry get through? Wait and see. A better question is, is it worth putting the recycling out, since its containers are not watertight, and since the recycling lorry didn't make it up the hill last time it snowed rather less than this? Decisions, decisions...