Frozen water
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In a shocking turn of events, this week water froze in the sky and fell, somewhat unenthusiastically, towards the ground. What followed across the country was complete anarchy. And I'm afraid I watched it all with a raised eyebrow and the occasional unsympathetic chortle.
I do appreciate that snow isn't something we get too often in majority of the UK. It only frequents some of our highest mountain peaks and perhaps parts of Scotland in the far north. But the fact is, it does happen. And yet every time it does, we're caught off guard and as a nation we seem unable to cope.
I know I shouldn't but I find it hilarious. I have several friends who live in northern Europe and the weather we've experienced in the last week in the UK would be a mild day to them. Frankly they'd no doubt laugh at our ineptness and boggle at our inability to make do. And they'd have every right to do so. I'd even join in.
It's no wonder the British get a reputation for being so stuffy and, well, bland. It seems our synergy with the normal weather is perfectly representative of our population as a whole. If it's anything more extreme than 'mild' we're going to complain about it. And if there's one thing we Brits do well, it's complaining. In the summer, it's too hot. In the winter, it's too cold. The rain is too wet. Oh, and, goodness me, that wind seems to be a bit blowy.
In Britain, if the weather gives us an inch (of snow), we take a mile (very slowly). Traffic becomes chaos. Drivers forget how to make their vehicles travel at anywhere near a sensible speed and the relatively minor adjustments that we are taught to make by the Highway Code books we read when learning to drive are quickly forgotten as people instead either slow to a crawl or attempt to get a grip on the road by spinning their wheels as fast as they'll go.
The last couple of days have seen schools and businesses close early because of adverse weather conditions. I only saw some snow. From my office window, I actually watched snow rising yesterday (we're in a tower block surrounded by other multi-story buildings, which creates a wind funnel effect, even on a calm day, that sometimes prevents anything but the heaviest of snow fall from landing). At its heaviest, the only threat I could see would require you to go outside and lie very still for about an hour and a half while you were very slowly buried in the lightest and fluffiest of snowflakes. And, even then, you'd probably still need to be run over by a car. But no, our company closed early too (and, laughable as it was, I wasn't about to argue the chance of an early finish).
Around this time next year we'll be in grip of winter again. There's a reasonable chance that water will once again freeze in the sky and fall—enthusiastically or otherwise—towards the ground. And in this seemingly unfamiliar event, something very familiar will happen all over again. My eyebrow is already raised in anticipation.