Snowmageddon!

Was that it?

Did the entire country really grind to a halt? Did schools close? Did good old Terry Wogan struggle to get in on time for the sake of what was, let's be honest here, no more than a mild dusting of snow? The smug four wheel driving bastards, on the one day of the year that their gas guzzling, planet destroying behemoths might possibly be remotely justified all seemed to be crawling along at the speed of concussed snails, fearful that their precious vehicles that haven't seen any terrain more rugged than Sainsbury's car park could be splashed with a bit of slush.

I remember a snow day some years ago when I had to drive to Stockport for a meeting. I made it up Winnat's pass in Castleton in my trusty little Micra with no problems and passed a four wheel drive turned over at the side of the road. He had obviously thought better of attempting the climb and had tried to do a three point turn in the lane, forgetting that his car was stupidly top heavy and prone to toppling over at an angle of more than a few degrees. In the words of Nelson Muntz, hah hah!

Still, walking in the woods with the dog tonight with the last flakes of snow drifting down out of the gloom was a magical experience. I love that particular silence you get, with any noise beyond the crunch of my wellies muffled by the blanket of snow. I suppose it will be mostly melted by tomorrow, but it's nice while it lasts.