The schools were closed of course, even the University had not bothered to open. Snow in winter? What is the world coming to? Anyway I was still at work and on the way back this afternoon I pulled over and had a look at the Goyt. It looked a bit bitter, under a slate grey sky, with a sharp cutting wind to test the thermal properties of my fleece.
Of course I would have liked to have stepped off into the distance. But I have responsibilities and things to do, people to see, and anyway I had the wrong sort of shoes, so that had I decided to stroll across the snow fields, very soon I would have had wet feet, and that is no good at all.
So I took a couple of pictures and got back into the car and set off for home. On the way I decided to pop into Buxton and get a few things. I parked the car in the crescent and strolling into the marvellous inspiring piece of architecure that serves as a shopping centre past the closed down shops, and abandoned retail dreams, I wished that I had got my feet wet instead. Walking back to the car my mind on higher things I heard a familiar voice calling out. “Dad, Dad over here.” It was the Weasel, clutching a snow ball. She was laughing and muttering something about coming back to the car with me so she could help me shift the giant “snow ball” that her “friends” had put in front of it. I looked up at the Slopes and there above me lined up like an Anglo Saxon army, all clutching snow balls were the Weasel’s friends.
“They’re not going to throw those at us are they?” I said. “No Dad. No they’re not going to throw them at us, only you.” A volley of snow balls, chucked in my direction landed on and around me. I tried to smile. Like the Saxons at Hastings they had left the safety of their hill top and were triumphantly moving down the slope. I reached the car, clearing the ‘Giant Snow ball’ and sliding into the drivers seat. As I set off the Weasel waved goodbye and a volley of snow balls struck the car. Oh to have been a Norman!