Tales from my handbag

It’s not often that you get to use the word ‘treacherous’ but I’ve used it several times recently to describe conditions outside my front door. I ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ when the first flurries appeared and gaily laughed at the children shoving snow down each other’s pants on their way to school. But then my road became a death trap. ‘Aaaaarrrggghhhh’, ‘wooohhhhhhh’ I cried as the ice rink conditions sent me hurtling head long into a neighbour’s bush. My low point was getting stuck in the middle of the road and having to get down on all fours and crawl home from the pub. On a lighter note, I’ve discovered that the wildlife in my back garden does not like chocolate and chestnut terrine but does like rough puff pastry.

Bloody hell, a flurry of snow and the country goes ga-ga. Is this all it takes for the hermetically-sealed citizens of this country to step out of their front doors and actually speak to each other? When I woke up yesterday morning, I had a Life on Mars moment when I looked out into the street and saw people - not scurrying to work or school, eyes down - but sliding down the road on makeshift sledges and having snowball fights with their neighbours. It felt like a street party but without the jelly. At my local shop, people were queueing for milk rations and laughing with strangers. Bizarre. Meanwhile, further up the road, there were two car crashes and a broken down M&S delivery lorry, a woman had collapsed in the Co-op and a child had cracked his head open on a shop floor swimming with slush. Blimey, it felt like an episode of Casualty. Today, the snow looks to have melted somewhat but even without going outside, I can bet the spirit of the Blitz will have disappeared with it. Shame.Â