I’m somewhat amazed by how disorienting heavy snow can be. When everything is white, you suddenly realise what a huge emphasis you place on the natural colour of things. On two occasions today I found myself on woodland paths in places I know like the back of my hand, only to discover I was in an entirely different place to the spot I was expecting to be in!
Londoners presently await the now-fabled, end-of-week blizzard which the weather people have been hyping for days. I’d like to suggest that it’s going to be a damp squib - these adverse events are usually the creation of bored media types - but I have important stuff to do tomorrow, which I don’t want to be wrecked by anything (either actual or perceived) so am burying my head in the sand and pretending everything is just fine.
It was fine at Mountview today. All the students made it in and no one was sent home. I have no idea when we started to get so lily-livered in the UK. If we name it, we’re allowed to panic about it. “The Beast from the East?” I ask you. I had to go to the bank in my lunch break, but it was closed, largely, one assumes, because bored workers couldn’t be bothered to come in. Schools everywhere have been closed down. I remember those heavy winters in the 1980s when we battled into school whatever the weather. My mum pulled us there in a sledge on one occasion and my dad reminded me today that he’d once been part of a chain gang of teachers and support staff who actually dug our school out of a huge drift! Where’s the wartime spirit?
I’ll tell you where it is... Lincolnshire! My mate Lucy has just sent me a picture of a car literally buried in snow.