One very appealing aspect of moving into the cosy bosom of your subtropical climate was the assumption that I’d never have to have a cold winter. Or at least not, like, a really cold winter. It wasn’t the main driver, but I’d estimate it was maybe a third-level consideration. It was definitely below living near the sea but above, say, the Sea Shanty festival.
I don’t have a good relationship with snow. Maybe it’s since last Christmas when I slipped over three times in ten minutes while I was, ironically, on my way to see Frozen On Ice in London. Maybe it was a few years before when it was snowing so hard I had to walk home from my part time job in Watford and I slipped over on the high street, came within inches of smacking my head on a brick wall, and couldn’t get back up again. Oh, and that one was in front of a bus stop full of people not one of whom would help me. Or maybe it’s just because any time my feet don’t feel completely stable on the ground I freeze up and lose the ability to walk like a human being, which makes falling over almost inevitable (see also: paddlebarding, roller derby). Whichever way you slice it, I my dignity ends up getting bruised. Much like my bum.
So I am, frankly, dismayed to find that we’re going to be spending this weekend under a weather warning for snow and ice and all of the horrible things that come with that. If I wanted to have to deal with that I would have stayed up-country. But I say things like ‘up-country’ now, so we all know they’re never going to have me back.
I hope these weather warnings are the same kind of empty threats as all of the “tropical storms” and tail ends of “hurricanes” we had over the previous few months. You know, the kind which were supposed to involve storm surges and massive damage and actually only ended in a stiff breeze and a knocked-over dustbin.
Even as I type this the wind’s getting up outside. But I look forward to that being the full extent of this weekend’s weather. Let’s stick to blue skies and turquoise water. Please don’t make me get my genuine Swedish cold-weather clogs out, Cornwall, because they make me look like a dick.