I’ve just realised that my last four posts are all kitchen based so today I’m going to witter on about that favourite British subject – the weather. Nothing startling but at least it will show that I do occasionally venture beyond the kitchen.
On Friday morning Husband looked out of the window at 6am and said, “Snow.” I asked how much and he said not much at all – “like a sprinkle of icing sugar on a cake.” Knowing his predilection for understating weather conditions I got up and looked myself. “Must have been a heavy-handed cook,” I said. Later I went out feeling:
a) grumpy because I don’t like snow
b) grumpy because I had to put my snow boots on (a three decades old pair which have incredibly good slip-proof soles but are old fashioned and ugly)
c) grumpy because I worry about my children driving in it
By the time I got back at noon it had all but disappeared so I felt happier. I’m fervently hoping that that’s our lot for this winter, though I think the hope may be a vain one. At least please not let it be as bad as in the awful winter of 2010/11 when these 3ft long icicles hung from the guttering of our house! I remember driving from Worcester to Nottingham for a meeting and just as I arrived, it started to snow – heavily. I sat in that meeting not hearing a word that was said because all I could think about was how I was going to get home. The M42 was dire and it scared me. The journey took 5 hours (against the usual two), and at times I was driving with tears running down my face.
But now here we are on Saturday morning and I’ve just had to turn the heating down and close the blind against the sun which was making it impossibly difficult to see the computer screen. Crazy weather or what?