Ever since the start of September I have been a weekend commuter between London and North Wales. So, as usual at 3:30 on Friday afternoon I took to the motorways and headed for the hills. I’d been warned that they had some snow and a little more due to arrive over the weekend but the weather warnings were amber rather than red, which meant that I should “be prepared” rather than “take action”. Now remember, I’m a good Girl Guide so I did go prepared with a flask of coffee, wellies, and even a sleeping bag in the boot just in case. As it turned out, Friday was my best run back to Mum and Dad’s for months as most people had clearly decided not to bother travelling. It was all fine until I got into their cul-de-sac and promptly got stuck blocking everyone else in. Dutifully, I dug for an hour with a dustpan (it was all I had!), put vast quantities of cardboard under my wheels and with a tiny bit of a shove from a kind neighbour, I managed to park myself at the bottom of the drive.
By the morning, this had happened…
The snow just kept coming down. This was the situation by Saturday afternoon…
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… and it kept coming. By the time we’d made it to over a foot of snow, Facebook friends began to tell me to stay warm and take an early Easter holiday but there was no way I wasn’t going to be in school on Monday morning. So, at 2 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, fuelled by smoked haddock risotto, I started digging this out…
Again with just a little help from a friendly neighbour I made it out and less than five hours later I was safely 200 miles down the road ready for a glass of rose! Phew, that was a close call!
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