I was congratulating myself last night that mine was a small corner of Northern Ireland that was going to avoid the January snow. Sitting, smugly and snugly, in front of my wood burner I watched the snowy scenes on the television screen, commiserating with the poor schmucks battling through the wintry conditions. I went to bed confident that this winter blast had passed me by.
When I woke up this morning I should have had some suspicions that my previous night's confidence was going to be shattered. It is always fairly quiet in the country, but this morning the quietness was muffled. A car passed by but it was a dull controlled sound. When I drew back the bedroom curtains and folded back the shutters the scene was different from that of the previous day. The grass, drive and road had disappeared under a carpet of snow. The meteorological gods had decided that I should not miss out on their snowy beneficence.
I suppose snow can add something to the winter scenery as long as you do not have to go out in it. For me the attractions of the winter wonderland pale very quickly when presented with the difficulties of moving about when the white peril floats down from the sky.
Thankfully no further snow fell during the day and most of the local roads are now a reassuring black colour. Roll on spring.