Two months too late, the words of those Christmas carols about snow and cold weather are perfectly suited to London. My apologies to those of you who live in places where snow is a regular winter occurrence and who are wondering what all the fuss is about. I live in the south of a country where the climate is temperate, so any extremes mean acres of newsprint and all conversations dominated by talk of the weather. Actually we always talk about the weather, this may be a big island, but it is an island and the weather can change in a matter of hours. A lot of visitors from overseas, even somewhere as close as France, have the misplaced belief that it rains in London everyday, heavily. Er no, it doesn’t. Drizzle is more our style, Rome and Paris have more rain than London. That’s a fact. Yes, I do get irritated by people who seem to think Brits are born with webbed feet. Climate crisis is changing that though, and downpours are becoming the new normal. The snow is probably part of the same pattern.
So my pictures from today start in our garden.
I woke in the night and knew there had been more snowfall. There was a quality to the light that is peculiar to snow. I looked out of the window and saw everything covered in white.
Our poor flowers are suffering. There’s a pale pink hyacinth that’s completely buried.
Our plants today are bowed down with the weight of the snow.
Hartley was out and about early, but then must have retired inside. His apewprints were everywhere, and I saw him eyeing the bird feeders.
When the snow goes I need to weed this mosaic.
The next stop was the local park, though stop is probably too grand a word. I was walking through it and whipped my pocket camera out and took these pictures. Most primary schools locally closed early as staff travel from a distance, so I was surprised not to see more children outside. Despite the difference in the colour of the sky in these photos they were taken seconds apart, but facing in slightly different directions.
My goal was Walworth garden where I had something to leave for one of the gardeners. It was also the reason I took my camera out, as I anticipated it would be looking good. I was right.
Part of the impetus for taking these pictures and posting them is for Celia. She called tonight from Wales where her newest grandchild has been born. Another neighbour sent her a picture of the neighbourhood and she was amazed to see we have more snow in London than in Clywd. I sent her an email showing some amazing bungalows for sale in places I am unlikely ever to live. Still, a little private fantasy is good for the soul, n’est-ce pas?