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.
I do, don't I? Ghastly stuff. They're not attention-seekers though, honest. This one suffers from depression and rather unwisely allowed herself to run out of medication last week, with predictably awful results. Add to this the remarkably unhelpful support for mental health in this country - I took her to A&E (she was really in a bad way) on, I think Friday night, but they were unable to give her anything and insisted that she see somebody on Monday. Quite what she was meant to do for the weekend, on a downer from lithium cold-turkey, was not made clear. In other news, my other flatmate is surviving at the moment, despite being in the throes of an increasingly nasty court case with a certain major organisation currently in the news for its arrogance and intransigence. My other flatmates are moving out and I have to find replacements for them. It's at times like this that I'm glad I work nights sometimes.