My Actual Day

Earlier on I was reading about the bravery of my fellow countrypersons who have been forced into action by snowmageddon, and it has compelled me to break my 8 day not-quite-silence on the subject.

Reports indicate that Scots have been handing out crisps, pushing cars about, and even complaining about the authorities as the M8, M80 and M74 were blocked with snow and drivers trapped in their cars yesterday and today. Such behaviour would never be countenanced in warmer times.

STV have been collecting people’s stories for their website, and it occurred to me that my own tale of an ordinary joe's snow misery was yet to be told. By me, anyway.

Zip!

The only bus currently serving my road flies by me this morning because it’s already full of commuters. I am comparatively unphased on account of already being hideously late but the reaction of the very young children who have always been on time for school is quite funny. In other news, I don't think dad gave them a once over before leaving the house this morning. The little girl has bare legs and according to my Met Office App it's -8°. Maybe she's in training to be some sort of decathlon competitor and it was an endurance exercise. Do they run decathlons for seven year olds? Probably.

Zap!

I am concerned that one of the office managers might be missing part of her brain, as she spent the morning organizing people to go through to Glasgow for a meeting tomorrow. Someone doesn’t use Twitter. Or read the news. I don’t know whether I should tell her to stop being so stupid, because I’m not really meant to be reading Twitter or the news myself. What a conundrum.

Zop!

On my way back home I nearly die; first in Dalkeith where I have to navigate my way along the top of a two-foot wall of snow that towers above the pavement like something out of The Snow Queen; then coming down Leith and Broughton Streets where the gritting efforts have resulted in loose, slushy snow lying over the top of sheet ice.

Zim!

Shuffle decides to play ‘Let It Snow’. Never let it be said in my presence that an inanimate object can’t have a sense of humour, because I will tell you this story again and again until you admit that you are wrong.

OK, none of this is very impressive. I haven’t dug any small children out of drifts with my bare hands, or tramped up and down the motorway handing out tea and biscuits. I haven’t even gone out to watch other people doing that stuff so I can report it. All I’ve done is slide about, get wet, and swear a bit.

Snow makes me boring.

Although, I did cling film the windows in the bedroom in an effort to keep some heat in.