Oh my, poop a pebble, Britain has snow. Everyone, quick, crap your pants! We had some on Monday, a couple of inches, and the country went into panic mode. Last night we got some more. Maybe four or five inches where I am. I know down south it’s a lot worse. MIL was snowed in for two days, and M. King has had sufficient snowfall to warrant getting worried. But really, I think we Brits are more astounded that we actually
have snow (we rarely get any—only the poor old Scots get anything like bad snow), so when it appears, the whole country goes to pot. I mean, come on, does the picture below look like a lot of snow to you? (That’s London on Monday.)
No. To me it looks like
normal snow. Snow we had as kids, where we trudged to school regardless. Where the heating still worked and didn’t break down. And what’s that all about anyway? School heating these days seems to break down at the slightest hint of a cold snap, yet large business buildings manage to keep their places heated. The road workers are panicking because they are running low on grit and salt. Public transport has been stopped. Schools have closed—great for the kids, they get to play outside in the white stuff—but is the amount we have really something to s**t yourself about?
This is bad snow.
If we had this,
then I’d understand the kerfuffle.
Grump over.
Ok, so maybe a panic attack will be in order by this time tomorrow. I just looked out of the window. Blizzard ahoy!
I wanna go and play in it!
