I woke up last Thursday and looked out my window to find myself back in Canada. “Oh no!” I thought. “The last two and a half years have all been a dream!” Then I realised it was just snowing. We had a bit of a snowstorm – about what I used to see once a week in Ottawa – and of course the nation freaked out and every newspaper ran huge panicky headlines about the EXTREME WEATHER CONDITIONS and the Tube ground to a confused halt (why??? It is underground!!) and I got to walk around looking smug and saying “Pfft! You call this winter?” and a good time was had by all. My colleague reported seeing children making snowmen and snow angels in the park near her house. “Yikes! In London?” I said. “More like shit angels.”
Just as London was recovering from its harrowing brush with actual weather, SiC and I decided to drive out to Wales for the weekend. SiC was a bit worried as more snow was predicted for western England and central Wales, but I rolled my eyes and did my Canadian “Snow? What snow?” routine, until we got to Presteigne and were hit by a solid wall of blinding, swirling white. I was incredibly annoyed, not because of the snow itself but because dammit, Canadians get to be smug about practically nothing! At least leave us our shit weather! We had to leave our crappy Peugeot and take SiC’s dad’s Land Rover out to the house, which is at the end of a rather tortuous dirt road. Even with the four wheel drive we came very close to sliding sideways into a gully. SiC had to get out and dig at a couple of points, and I helped by staying in the warm car and laughing when he slipped on the ice.
The next day everything was sparkling and white and OK I admit it, very pretty. Snow can be enjoyable on a temporary basis. SiC harassed me until I came outside, then he harassed me until I climbed to the top of the hill with him, then he harassed me until I took a turn on the sledge (promising not to laugh if I fell off and then promptly bursting into hysterical laughter when I fell off) and then he threw snowballs at me and then he made a giant snowball and pushed me into it and then I murdered him and left his body for the crows and went back inside where it was warm like a sensible person. It was just like a Christmas card.
By Sunday everything was on the melt and we got back to Presteigne with nary a slip. Of course, on the way home to London the rad blew a leak and some demented old bink decided to change lanes without looking and nearly killed us. Back to reality, I guess.