Sandscript in Soft Snow

Due to an accident of birth my parents were neither hill farmers nor sea fishing folk. Dad worked in an office, we lived on a main road; except when the River Thames flooded I was already several steps away from real life. ‘What is real life?’ is worthy of a blog in itself.
Suffice to say that when the Beast from the East hit Britain last week people were blasted out of their comfort zone to a greater or lesser degree. Hill farmers have to go and dig their sheep out of snow drifts and put new born lambs in the oven to warm up. Motorists used to flashing through real life in their heated cars, found themselves stranded all night in remote places, trains were halted high on railway banks. The army was called in.
Here at the bottom of the map we were still waiting for the excitement of snow. Wednesday brought biting winds. Thursday we looked out the window at 7am, saw snow and headed straight for the cliff top. If you have seen early black and white photographs of ships locked in ice, their search for the North West Passage halted for the winter, you will have marvelled at how they got those photos. Big cameras and big buttons presumably meant they did not need to take their gloves off. Using a smart phone requires bare hands and our fingers were quickly in pain. But I managed to send a photo off to Instagram. After descending to the beach and some quick shots of snow drifts against the groynes, we rushed home for hot porridge and put pictures on Facebook and websites in comfort. Our views were pretty, but there was not a lot of snow. Cyberspouse left his bicycle behind and took the bus into town to meet his friend for their weekly drink and cinema. I went to the local shops.
It snowed all afternoon, looking prettier and prettier. Cyberspouse phoned to say all the buses were suspended as they couldn’t get up the hills. Luckily he had his walking boots and set off along the seafront as darkness fell, he got some good photos and arrived home nearly two hour later. On the local Facebook Page came tales of people taking six hours to get home in their cars.
Thursday night brought freezing rain. Friday morning was a white delight, but the beautiful snow was frozen hard. We were not going to starve if we stayed home, would probably not get scurvy if we relied on baked beans and frozen peas. But with local shops so handy we’re used to daily shopping, more importantly I did not want to miss out on the snow experience and more pictures for Instagram. We planned a circular walk to the cliff top and down Grand Avenue to the Grove for coffee and shopping.
It was a foolish mission that could have ended in disaster; impossible to walk on the icy crust of snow, hanging on to garden walls was not an option as they were covered in ice. We weren’t the only ones who made it to the cliff top, just the only ones without dogs or children. It wasn’t as cold as Thursday, the sky was heavy laden, insulating us.
Our favourite Ludo Lounge was open and it was packed. With schools closed and parents unable or unwilling to go to work it was like summer holiday time, but with ice and slush. A waitress said they had received twenty eight phone calls before 9.30 am checking if they were open; people had their priorities right.
The greengrocers’ was closed, however Sainsburys’ was open with enough veg for a good stir fry. But something was wrong, there was no milk on the shelves. It hadn’t occurred to us that out in the real world milk tankers would be unable to get to farms or back to dairies, nor would delivery lorries be able to get to supermarkets or corner shops. We don’t use much milk, Cyberspouse likes everything black, we have a Tassimo coffee machine. With only enough milk left for me to have two cups of tea this was a First World Problem with a First World Solution.
We walked home on the slushy main road, less slippery, but not so pretty. By evening we could hear the steady drop of thaw, by Saturday morning melting was well under way and I was glad I hadn’t stayed in and missed Snow Day. At the shops there was still no milk. I posted ‘No Milk Today’ on the local FB page and unintentionally started a conversation that went on till Monday; from Utube clips of Herman’s Hermits singing ‘No Milk Today’ to arguments about veganism and regular updates of remote shops where people had found one carton of milk.
Sunday opened with sunshine and everyone was out on the cliff top, beach and pier.
But on Facebook today the First World Problems were still with us... ‘I sat in sunshine on the cliff top, but when I stopped at the Co-op on the way home; no milk or bread!'
For snowy pictures visit my website.
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