We’re late. Take off should have been thirty minutes ago. I lift my head from the magazine in my lap and see snow falling, snow I did not know had been forecast. As I watch it becomes heavier, swirling little white dervishes covering the grass and the stationary planes.
Across the aisle there is no visibility from the starboard window. In minutes the snow has covered it as effectively as a shutter.I use my phone to take a photograph. Then another. The woman in the aisle seat passes me her phone and asks me to photograph the scene for her. I don’t know how she’s feeling, but at this minute I’d be happy enough to be told we weren’t going anywhere, return to the terminal and see if I can fly tomorrow instead.
But the engine note changes and we taxi down the runway, headfirst into the snow. Then we’re airborne. The seatbelt sign stays on for an age until we’re nearly over Liverpool, and I pay closer attention to the safety procedures than in a long time.