Wild flurries of this ...
have led to a large dumping of snow
that has caused travel chaos (various members of our family this weekend have been gridlocked on the M4, stuck twice in thick snow on smaller roads, helped several other people dig their cars out of similar predicaments, and had trains and tubes delayed, diverted and/or cancelled)
But worst of all, as Heathrow and Gatwick shut down, our holiday plans have turned to snowdust. At this moment we should be in Vienna, sipping gluhwein at a Christmas market under the spires of Stephansdom, dreaming of coffee and pastries at an elegant Viennese cafe in the morning ... I could weep with frustration.
All alternative options have been tried and failed. Meanwhile we trudged to the store for provisions à pied, since nobody had the will to either dig out the car or attempt the hazardous drive ...
(images of the gulag?: inmates struggle to the supply store under leaden skies)
and some disconsolately made snow angels in an effort to cheer up
(child lies frozen to the wasted ground)
Yes, I know this is trivial and middle class as misfortunes go, and no doubt I will recover my Christmas spirit at some point, but for the meantime I need to rail loudly at British inadequacy in dealing with standard winter weather conditions, and then perhaps take myself off with a glass or three of my current favourite Portuguese red (Crasto, Douro 2008) and the new book I've been wanting to start (the latest Le Carré) and have a bloody good sulk.
