I hate snow

[oursin]

Snow may be all very well if one can just sit indoors and contemplate its aesthetic qualities.

But snow in London on a day one has to go to work?

Transport disruptions (at least the relevant bit of the Northern Line was more or less running).

Streets treacherous with slush and slither. The forecourt of Euston station was like a glacier or an

Comments

[wordweaverlynn]

I really, really hate, almost to the point of phobia, picking my way over slippery slithery surfaces.

Me too. So much so that I instinctively distrust surfaces that are safe in California but would be dangerously icy in winter back home.

[chickenfeet2003]

"I really, really hate, almost to the point of phobia, picking my way over slippery slithery surfaces."

That would describe my walk in this morning. It was 4C here yesterday so lots of melt, which, of course, froze solid overnight. I've done my ankle on that crud once already this winter. I don't need a repeat.

[veejane]

Last time I was in Britain -- late March 2004 --, I was in a small town in Devon when the cold rain turned to snow, and I swear, the Britons around me could not have been more surprised if tractors had started falling from the sky.

It's old hat, especially this winter, in the Northeast. Today we are all pathetically grateful for its being above freezing and getting a bit of melt. (It's due to snow again tomorrow, and bitter again after that.)

[movingfinger]

The forecourt of Euston station was like a glacier or an icerink this morning - no sign of attempts to clear or grit the most heavily used paths.

But this would require some transit manager to put in a budget a line-item for grit, which I'd guess would not be funded either (1) because "grit is not normally used" or (2) because managers cannot include a consumable item that would be not necessarily be used and would have to be accounted for in subsequent years' audits.

Just guessing. "Indifference and incompetence" are also possible, I suppose.

[hartleyhare]

I really, really hate, almost to the point of phobia, picking my way over slippery slithery surfaces

Gosh, yes. Especially when being watched by a classful of fourteen-year olds.