Let It Snow

The icy breath froze as it entered my lungs. Exhaling was difficult, the temperature somewhere between -6 and -9. The newly fallen snow clung to the pavement, willing itself to shield pedestrians from the sheet of ice beneath it. Armoured with two pairs of gloves, three jumpers, a coat and a hat, my top half still shivered. My toes and legs, covered in jeans, one pair of socks and barely snow-proof trainers, slowly got used to the numbness that had begun creeping its way upwards. My 10 minute walk to the car (God bless Ford and all other car makers!) felt like an arctic tunnel, getting ever further away from warmth and light. What breath I could muster rose in front of me and danced to Jack Frost's music: a cold hard melody. I hurried my pace: thoughts of turning on the heating (that would begin as icy blasts but eventually carry some warmth) beckoned me on. But as I turned into the park something changed; the hum of traffic faded, the week-old snow crunched as it became easier to walk on, and something sparkled as the Winter sun hung in the air, laughing at people complaining of the cold, and smiling at those who recognised her gift to turn even the frostiest of afternoons into gorgeous glittering dance floors. Two girls attempting to walk on the frozen lake. A dormant river hibernating from the bitter cold. Snow flakes floating lazily before my very eyes. Yes, the snow is inexpressibly cold. But how indescribably beautiful it is! I wonder how God thought of it?

Gridlock!

Ok, I'll admit I set off a little later than I'd anticipated. My stomach kept niggling to be fed, and my newly bought sandwich ingredients looked just a tad too appetizing. So I set off at, not 4.15 as I'd intended, but 4.35. It takes 45 minutes to get to Alton, which is where I was going for my bonfire night and firworks display. I obviously knew I wouldn't get there by 5.00, but I was in the state of mind where you know you're late but you make yourself think that you won't be late after all, even though you're going at exactly the same speed as you would if you were on time. It's kinda like when you want Jerry to stop hitting Tom over the head with the dustbin lid and let him catch him this time, even though you know the plot and have seen that episode a hundred times before!
Anyway, I was in this state of mind, convinced I would be on time, so I duly texted Dad to let him know I was on my way. I turned off the A38 and onto the A50 in, I think, record time (though I promise I wasn't speeding, time was just on my side!) I passed a long line of traffic going the other way at a very slow rate, and I thanked God I wasn't one of them. Well we all know what comes next. Sod's law, you think one thing and immediately the exact same thing happens to you, only worse.
We ended up in that state of gridlock for three hours.
Cars were turning their lights and engines off, people were getting out of their cars and into the darkened rain to see what had happened. There was no point: the accident must have been a LONG way off.
Nope. The accident actually happened at the roundabout less than a mile away. The whole time I was just 15 minutes away from Alton!
Once traffic started moving, I'd recieved a text off my brother saying the bonfire and fireworks was over. I laughed, I cried, I screamed, I kicked my legs in some form of adult tantrum at the seeming hopelessness of the situation. But I did thank God I wasn't involved in the accident.
If you've ever been in gridlock, whether the driver or the passenger, you'll know how bloody frustrating the whole thing is. Cars and lorries just don't seem to move more than 50 yards in a half hour slot. If you've been, like me, in gridlock in the dark it's ten times worse. But it's just one of those things, and I guess you just have to be thankful you're only stuck in traffic, not in hospital.