white stuff

It’s been a funny old week because of the snow. It feels like the Blitz spirit should be alive and well, yet most of us are transfixed by forecasts on our devices, fretting about the detrimental effect on work rather than having a jolly good old sled down a snowy hillside. Or maybe that’s just me, who had to cancel three work things this week. It meant I had more time to wrangle with the reading for my upcoming module on Qualitative Research (hard. Very hard. I am slightly concerned!) and transcribing interviews from Mothers Uncovered participants from eight years back for our upcoming book. Fascinating listening to people’s stories.
The previous week had brought the sad and very sudden demise of Nic Grundy, formerly lesser player on The Archers, going out in a blaze of glory in hospital with sepsis. Highlighting this dangerous condition is undoubtedly a ‘GOOD THING’, even though it meant I couldn’t have my companionable Sunday omnibus prattle from Borsetshire on in the background as I pottered about as I knew where it was headed. Possibly in memory of those who have gone, I made my first ever fish pie that evening. That was always Chris’ dish, so I felt I shouldn’t before that.
Back to the snow though. Down in ole Brighton, it was a fairly inconsequential amount. It closed some schools, but not others, leading to grumbling. Twitter and Facebook timelines quickly filled up with the white stuff. Warnings were not heeded by some about the Beast From the East. There is still a redoubtable Brit resistance to being told what to do.
And now it is gone again. And it is damp. And the expected temperature for the time of year. Cold, but not too cold.