Mum teaches of an evening and has a rule that if it snows, she doesn't go. No one would turn up anyway.
This week's forecasts of snow have, though, been met with some derision and the repeated refrains “Oh, they can't forecast snow!” and “It never snows here anyway”. Which is true. It really never does. I think the last time snow fell out of the sky was two years ago on Boxing Day, and then it was no more than a few flakes that melted on impact.
This evening's forecast of snow was, therefore, met with some derision. Mum got ready for class and left the house with the temperature at 4C, way too warm for snow, and the wind coming in from the west, which is entirely the wrong direction for snow. It only snows here when the wind comes from the northeast.
(Can you see where I'm going with this yet?)
So Mum leaves for class. Pretty much the moment she's gone, the temperature plummets to -1C, the wind swings round to the northeast and strengthens to 'howling gale' (that's a technical term, btw), there are flashes of lightning and grumbles of thunder, and all snowy hell breaks loose.
I mean, really. It was blizzard conditions.
Dad and I sat in the lounge watching the snow beat against the patio doors. Never seen it accumulate so quickly here.
“There'll be a key in the door any moment,” I said, and sure enough there was. Mum said the roads were lethal, and there was no way she was going any further. She couldn't see a foot in front of the windscreen, it was so bad.
The lights flickered, the phones went temporarily doolally, and it was all terribly dramatic.
Then, just as suddenly, it was all over. We were left with almost 2cm of snow which fell in all of about 15 mins, but which is now melting. Chances of repeat performance before the end of the night – nil, I'd say.
See! It really did!
Ok, so it's not much by American standards, I know. But we really do hardly ever get snow here. It's a major event! Honest!
