A text this morning from my mate John, who now lives in Penrith: “On 7.15 bus to Keswick in the dark to attempt a sunrise photoshoot up Cat Bells. Wearing three pairs keks, 4 tops, 2 pairs gloves, coat”.
Our Lad, meanwhile, is sharing his engineering expertise with the good people of Nykøping, Sweden. His text came last night as I was inching down the glacier that used to be Leytonstone High Road: “Minus 18 here. Drinking Speckled Hen instead of Spendrups”. Life for these two was carrying on as normal. Where John lives it’s probably been snowing since august. I doubt any buses have been cancelled, and I bet the locals have plenty of traction underfoot in Nykøping. While London is coping with the snow better than it did in february, our local council is wailing that it’s run out of salt. Well, Councillor Robbins – send a lorry down to Frinton and nick some of their sand.
(The pic above was taken by my mam, somewhere near Kettlewell. Her and Dad drove up there in a Peugeot hatchback. Londoners, you don’t really need a Range Rover Sport to go to Waitrose.)