There is snow in the night, and the south-east comes to a standstill, apart from internet traffic, which goes all flaky. Pete can’t get to the office because I claimed the car so I didn’t have to cycle down to the childminder. He made it as far as the railway station, where the signs were flashing a message saying, Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Leave Your Homes Today, For Ye Have No Guarantee Of Getting Back Again.
Bernard cannot be torn from his windowsill, where he admires the blanketed world. He describes it thus: Snow on daddy’s car. Snow on people’s cars. Snow on stones. Snow on hezzes. Snow on allthing. All covered in snow! For once he is easily persuaded to get dressed – funny that. He discovers once we get out there and I start scraping down the car that the pretty stuff is also cold and wet. He is unimpressed.
When he gets home, though, he will see the snowman that the big boys across the road built this morning. It’s snowing again now; expect more of the same tomorrow.