4 flippin' hours to get home (25 miles) in about an inch of snow last night. This may come across as somewhat curmugeonly, but: If you know (because it's been trailed on the news for about a week) that there's snow on the way, put some petrol in your car. If you don't like driving in the snow, don't do it. People will give you lifts, there are trains and buses and so on; don't hold the rest of us up by trundling around at 5mph. If you're sliding, stop braking! When you see a hill, don't stop. Don't speed up. Don't change gear, revving furiously all the while. If you can't get going again in 1st, stop making ice patches; try 2nd. Honestly, we must be the most pathetic country in the world when it comes to dealing with a little bit of snow. (Of course, when I say 'we', I mean the southern English. Those of us who grew up in places where it snows quite regularly in the winter were the ones overtaking everyone else this morning - it was wet, not frozen, you... *spontaneously combusts*
I had to drive from Cumbria to Stratford-upon-Avon yesterday. Via Birmingham. Set off 4pm. Home at 11.00pm. I managed to avoid the B'ham gridlock, although I was delayed for a couple of hours on the M5. In the circumstances, I think I was lucky. But how I wish I'd seen the lighting storm!
And the poor chickens! They hate the snow and have remained tuck-tucked up in their hen-cot. I gave them extra portions of porridge this morning.
Ah, let's not get into the old "is snow a good thing or not?" debate, which as far as I can see generally splits neatly along the line that divides drivers from non-drivers. As a non-driving aesthetic type I naturally love snow and get very miserable when it goes. And I couldn't appreciate it last night for the 20 minutes that it existed because of a flatmate-related crisis (as usual). One day I shall live all alone in some kind of Arctic permafrost country. With a reliable Internet connection.