Snow Day

I am becoming progressively less enchanted with the snow. Yesterday I had to cancel a day at the Coco Shambhala spa at The Met in London, when my little two seater was defeated by the snow & ice covered steep hill from our house to civilisation. (The other way out is over a frozen ford and a cart track. Not especially feasible unless one has a 4WD or a handy Tardis.)

So, instead of luxuriating in lovely spa treatments, I wrapped godchild presents to catch the last guaranteed First Class post before Christmas as there was no way I was going to be able to deliver them in person, as planned.

Late afternoon, I managed to get up the hill, and onto the main road. Unfortunately, the side turning to Woodford Halse and its tiny post office is not much frequented. So, no lovely council gritting lorry had made its way down those lanes.



The entire journey crawled by at a steady 20mph, hands clamped on the wheel, soothing Radio Four in the background, as my wheels slipped across the ice. At eighteen and a few months after passing my driving test, I wrote off my first car on the way back from a funeral by braking on black ice on the long, curving bend around Rockingham Castle. (In my defence, no-one had ever taught me to look for black ice or what to do with it). Ever since I have been like a cat on hot bricks in icy conditions.



I made it there & back in one piece, but was seriously shaken & in need of restorative Earl Grey. Bloody well hope those infants appreciate their presents!