Last night, I arrived home from work around 5.45, no snow. At 6.15 there was about 6 inches of the white stuff covering everything. Out of my back bedroom window, the trees looked like Nigella had gone made with frosting, and it was still falling heavily.
This morning the snow is up to about a foot high, mostly in drifts against the pavements and around the wheels of cars. It fell so fast and so heavy that the cat fencing which keeps my furry little darlings safely in the garden has given way under the weight, and the brackets (the expensive part of the system, naturally) have snapped.
Gathering every ounce of courage, I got into my car and drove into town to go shopping. At this point I have to say that my courage would have deserted me, if I had not had bare cupboards. (My need to eat is far greater than my common sense at times like this).
I made my way into town easily enough, popped into the supermarket, back to the car to put the food in the boot before sliding to the book shop to finish off a Christmas present. I returned to the car with a self satisfied grin, quite pleased with myself that I am one step closer to finishing my present shopping, to find a completely flat front tyre.
Thank goodness for the "third emergency service" (other breakdown services are available). I called them to rescue me, and although I was told that it may take up to two hours to reach me, my knight in his yellow van arrived about 40 minutes later.
What annoys me, is that I know how to change a tyre. I do, honestly! The trouble is that I can't undo the nuts.
So, much later than planned I arrived home with cold wet feet, and soggy jeans to a house full of cats who wanted to go out and play in the garden and can't.