ianbee: this is instead of getting a dog

Snow in Wellington

Wellington, in New Zealand, doesn't get much snow. You can tell this just by looking at their faces.

 

I spoke to my Wellington friends this morning on Skype. They were all wrapped up warm.

The Return of the Snow

It's a bit wet and not deep and not at all fluffy, but I like it. Especially when you get to explore the wintry world with a delightful small child.

 

New year, bigger column

Hello! Happy New Year! As a treat I have paid an extra few quid and upgraded from "Pro Plus" to "Pro Unlimited" blog membership, which means I can make the main column bigger. Everyone has big monitors these days, so I thought it would be worth it. The optimum size is always a balance between text and photos - what do you think? Does it work? The banner is a temporary one until I am inspired with a Yorkshire theme. If I am nice to him, Simon may draw me a whippet.

The lake near my parents' house froze over this year. Everyone was thrilled by the opportunity to stand on six-inches of ice over water two-feet deep whilst being yellled at by our mothers to be careful.

Happy Christmas!

Captain Cautious

I'm with my family in London for Christmas. I cleared my car out today and I thought you'd like to know what I had accumulated during the last few weeks of epic cross-country snow journeys.

shovel
chopping board (used for shovelling before I bought a shovel)
sleeping bag
high-visibility clothing
warm coat
change of socks and pants
water
biscuits (shortbread)
chocolate
flask (hot ribena)
screen wash (-8)
screen wash (-4, useless)
oil
tennis ball
dustpan and brush
safety triangle
spare bulbs
rug (tartan)
big torch
head torch
dynamo torch (penguin shaped)

i did put my "Gillie kettle" camping stove in on the urging of my housemate, but on reflection I took it out again as I'd need a supply of chopped wood and that's not so easy to come by on the motorway.

Advent: Santa pops outside to see what all the fuss is about

Brrrr ...

The temperature hasn't bobbed above freezing here for weeks. The ground is still covered in snow, and I am living in my puffy-jacket. The landscape is stunningly beautiful, particularly in the early mornings as the weak sun disperses the mist. I have my last night-shift tonight before a short Christmas break. I can't wait! If I make it south, I'll be having my first family Christmas in three years! I have my shovel, I am ready to go ...

Advent: Santa checks out the iron-reindeer

Advent: Stormtrooper avalanche rescue team

Manchester, 90s electro-pop, snow and the end of the world (almost)

On Friday night I was with my friend J in Manchester at a Saint Etienne gig (He's on the phone, Born on Christmas day, Who do you think you are, etc). Brilliant music, kitschy video, happy crowd, and Sarah Cracknell wore a sparkly dress, which was nice.

The plan was to be out of there by midnight, when the snow was due to start falling. Unfortunately the weather was running ahead of the forecast and by the time the gig finished at eleven there was already a couple of inches on the ground, thickening fast.

We spent the first hour of the journey stationary in gridlocked traffic, watching ladies in high-heels and dressed for a summer's day struggle on the snowy pavements. Once able we moved in the direction of the motorway, any motorway, feeling our way through the slippy streets in a slow convoy of nervous drivers, like refugees from a climate Armageddon.   

The road we chose dipped under an overpass. The traffic backed up, each car waiting for clear road ahead so they wouldn't have to stop on the hill. Meanwhile the snow kept falling, not a sprinkle, not powder, not flakes. Lumps. big sticky lumps that the wipers struggled to clear. Our turn came. we lined up alongside another car and began our ascent. We were soon in trouble. To the right, the other car faded away. Our wheels were spinning. We weren't moving. We needed a push. J knew what to do, he jumped out and became a legend.

J is not an athlete. he would be the first to admit that, but for the next hundred yards he dug deep and performed to Herculean standards. His extra two horsepower was enough to keep the car moving. I was screaming "push!" at the top of my voice, he was fading, fading fast, but as the slope began to level out, the car picked up speed. I wasn't going to stop - he'd done well but I couldn't afford to loose the ground he'd gained for us. "You're going to have to jump in while we're moving", I shouted (he'd have done the same). Realising I was serious, he dug deep, discovered a final crumb of effort and hauled himself into the passenger seat where he lay panting for the next half-hour. My car was the last vehicle to make it up the hill, as we drove away the other headlights faded mournfully behind us into the snow.

We were delirious with success but there was a long hairy drive still ahead, over the M6 summit (the highest motorway in Britain) and beyond to Leeds and home. The snow kept falling and I gripped the steering wheel with a steely determination. The road ahead could have been a farm track or a motorway, there was no way of telling, it was just white, with only two tire tracks and dim red lorry lights in the distance to follow.

Meanwhile down near London, my parents have contacted me with news that the snow has made it hard to push shopping trolleys through Waitrose car park.