A bit of snow never killed any o......
Outside, everything is white. And because everything is white, everything looks very beautiful - even the pile of rubbish in the corner at the back of the house, dumped there unceremoniously by the Theatre Company who use the downstairs. Even the four cheap-brick maisonettes, built in what used to be the grounds of the house, look rather pretty.
I have no doubt that this morning will be utter chaos at work. Students will be ringing in by their hundreds to tell us they can't make it in because of the snow. Lecturers will be bagging a free day off work - because everyone knows that no human can survive on 15 weeks annual leave alone. Schools across the nation will be closed (ditto) and London will slide on its arse.
School was never, EVER closed when I was younger; and that was when we had proper snow. A foot deep.* The most momentous thing that ever happened due to a few flakes of the white stuff was that Mr Russell, the wiry and fiercely energetic old deputy head, announced at assembly that we would all be meeting on the Lodge Field for a huge, all day, inter-house Snow War. Glorious, rosy-cheeked mayhem ensued. But school didn't close.
I for one shall be pulling on my sturdy leather boots (that's actually Sweden snow that is - Sweden has a special kind of snow which, although much thicker, icier and longer-lasting, does not harm, impede or halt any of Sweden's infrastructure in any way) and will be marching resolutely to work. Granted, I live but ten minutes away but Lor'.... what an utter fuss.
* May be inaccurate due to change in size of author.