It’s day 6 in the countryside, and we’ve been snowed in for nearly a week now.
Sure, there are juggernauts thundering down the A35. But a mile off, here in ice-bound Harcombe, there’s nothing to disturb the snow-muffled silence. The trees are an amazing ghostly white from the hoar frost. Robins hop tamely right up to my feet, looking at me questioningly. It’s almost Narnian.
Apart from all those neighbours of ours who are the next step up the evolutionary chain with their 4-wheel drives. Yes yes I wish we had one too. Maybe when we grow up….
In the meantime, this (very broke) winter, I will mostly be walking to the shops. Today I lugged the Christmas dinner makings back in my rucksack. Apart from the inconvenience, it’s all very romantic. Although clearly this is lost on the children, who’d rather stay inside watching Beebies while I’m out sculpting snowmen. I might force them to eat bushtucker (see previous blogs) as punishment.
