The Big-ish Freeze

In which our reluctant hero heroically attempts to survive the big chill.

Poor old Blighty never seems properly prepared for anything, least of all the weather.

We’re usually surprised to be semi-flooded at this time of year, forgetting that February signals the start of the serious consideration as to whether “ark building” would be a good new hobby.

Normality resumes when the dove returns in April, followed by the inevitable hosepipe ban when we bizarrely run out of water after two days of July sunshine.

It snowed for the first time in years last December causing the inevitable chaos and a whiteout on social media as Olafs started popping up everywhere. It wasn’t even particularly bad snow, but did we cope? Nah.

Lessons learned and all that, we should have been better prepared when The Guardian’s live snow blog officially kicked off silly season after the first few flakes of the current white stuff fell. But no.

The rail operators were the first to be caught with their thermal pants down, cancelling services all over the place just in case it snowed. It didn’t for a few days either causing an unexpected grumpy front to head in from the southeast. If only somebody had thought to check Facebook. Or look out of a window as a last resort if the Internet was down.

When the snow finally appeared, it was cars suffering next as the roads became slippier than Boris Johnson on a buttered ice rink. Drivers were advised not to travel unless absolutely necessary. With the trains now properly derailed, the only options for many were to work at home or attempt to get to work by icicle.

The West Midlands thankfully got away with a light dusting, but it has been absolutely chuffing freezing. So it was on with my extra jumper, fleece, duffel coat, hat, scarf, emergency second hat and big headphones (cool music equals warm ears) in an attempt to reach the bus stop without becoming snowmanified. Which should be a word if it isn’t.

This theoretically cunning plan would have worked so much better had I, just like everyone else, not worn my usual thin work trousers, shoes and summer socks on my bottom half. I bet Long John Silver had warmer legs than me.

If a bus bothers to arrive, there’s the problem of removing the top fourteen layers of clothing to prevent baking, before reversing the process to catch the train.

Many of Wolverhampton’s schools were closed despite barely enough snow to make a snowball, let alone a snowman this morning, although it did worsen later. I’ll give them that one.

When I was little, snow days were often caused by the school heating temporarily packing up. Not wanting to feel left out, our boiler decided that it too would randomly lose pressure and stop heating our water and radiators, starting with my wife’s morning bath. Ice one.

Surprisingly, we were also caught out before the cold snap started. The last thing that you think of when heading on a seaside holiday is to pack hats, scarves and gloves. Which is exactly what we didn’t do a week ago when we headed to Minehead.

This wouldn’t have been an issue except that Butlins’ more exciting rides were located outside.

Perhaps packing a leather flying hat and goggles would have been more sensible for the outdoor “aeroplane” ride. On we got and accelerated straight into a minus fifteen degree breeze. Ouch. At least we thought to wear lace up shoes and not slip-ons like one mum who’s shoe propelled itself halfway to the beach.

Thankfully it shouldn’t last long with a tropical four degrees forecast for Sunday. If the sun and snow are out, someone somewhere will be bound to forget to plan for that too. Sunburn in March you say? It’s snow joke.

Fin.