The view from our window at 9am.
We were woken up at 6.50am this morning by Lulu, barking loudly. This is annoying because we didn’t have to get up until slightly later as Nick is working from home today, but found ourselves leaping out of bed at pretty much our usual time to see what the commotion was all about.
It was the milk delivery. We don’t have a milkman as such, in the sense that nobody does a milk round in this area any more, but the nearest farm has started pasteurising its own milk and selling it locally. Our neighbour who lives across the road collects it from the farm and delivers it to the few people on the road who want it, three days a week. It’s not exactly a milk round as the time of day the milk arrives can vary from 7.30am to 4pm depending on when our neighbour has the time to do it, but it’s a good service and we appreciate it.
I’m also quite proud of Lulu, barking furiously having heard footsteps on the drive, being a good guard dog after all.
Unfortunately the reason for the unusually early arrival of our milk was another fall of snow. I had checked the forecast and saw that we were due to have some, but didn’t think it would amount to much. No doubt our neighbour decided to get the milk delivered while he could still get about.
At 7.30 Nick went out and cleared the drive so that I would be able to go to work. Half an hour later bucketloads of snow came and all his hard work disappeared under another inch or so.
The view from our window at 10.00 am.
For the view at 10.30 look at the first photo again, it was the same.
So this is how it’s been all morning, sunshine and blue skies alternating with blizzards. And me fretting as to whether I should try to drive to work, phone calls being exchanged with colleagues to find out what they think and whether they would risk it, trying to find out if anyone knew how bad the main roads were.
All in all, it’s the wrong kind of snow. Bad enough to make driving difficult, largely because of the huge volume of traffic that pours onto the main roads rather than use the hilly lanes. Not quite bad enough to feel I can definitely pronounce it not safe to go out. It’s not that we have six inches of it, just enough to make the roads very slippery. Six inches would be better - nobody would question my decision not to drive.
Our new boss has little sympathy with our nervousness and would never declare the business closed as she only goes in one day per week. (It never seems to snow on those days.) It’s open if we get in and it’s closed if we don’t but then we have to take the time unpaid or out of our holiday allocation. So on the one hand I feel inclined to try to get to work but on the other I recall horrible journeys when I have been stuck in a traffic jam in a blizzard surrounded by cars slithering around precariously, or sitting in a queue at the bottom of a hill, waiting for cars to take their turn in trying to get up it one at a time (getting down it is even more frightening). In which case having to lose a day’s pay seems the better option.
I really could do without this annual test of my bravery. Roll on spring !!