The Big Dump
And snow it did.
Not in the quantities required to strand me at home, but enough to have the headline writers hit ‘ALT-TC’ on their keyboards to generate the headline ‘weather brings travel chaos’. My train was a bit late, but not that late, my biggest disappointment was the train company still doesn’t fit snow-ploughs to the front of trains.
Depending on your mode of travel, the snow was either good or bad news. Bad news for those hurrying with purpose, good news for those hurrying with no purpose - like the teenage girls I saw going somewhere with a sledge.
At least I think it was a sledge. When I think of a sledge I think of Rosebud, something that you could confidently attach huskies or at least younger siblings to for power. Something which, and this is important, gives you the illusion of steering.
It is an illusion, when you’re speeding on snow you are obviously not in charge of your own destiny. All you have to do to see this demonstrated is watch any snowy sport - there’s a reason downhill skiers wear helmets you know. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as seeing some athlete dressed in lycra pulled super-tight over muscles you’ll never, ever have, hammering down a slope just, as it turns out, a bit to fast to react to a bump. The next moment the guy is either the centre of a growing snowball or is creating a hugely satisfying shower of snow before his progress is arrested by friction, the crowd or, if he’s unlucky, a pine tree. And these are the experts!
The sledge this girl had was circular and had a couple of handles. What’s the point of that? Is going hell-for-leather down a snowy hill not exciting enough, does she also want the thrill of revolving slowly so that she can’t see that she’s about to be decanted onto a busy road?
Possibly this is a sensible approach but I prefer to tug uselessly at the sledge controls and at least have time to start weeping before something substantially dreadful happens and my transport goes from sledge to splinters in seconds.
Of course the real reason I prefer solid, robust sledges (yew for preference) is that unlike a svelte teen, I can’t fit on a tea tray.
Not in the quantities required to strand me at home, but enough to have the headline writers hit ‘ALT-TC’ on their keyboards to generate the headline ‘weather brings travel chaos’. My train was a bit late, but not that late, my biggest disappointment was the train company still doesn’t fit snow-ploughs to the front of trains.
Depending on your mode of travel, the snow was either good or bad news. Bad news for those hurrying with purpose, good news for those hurrying with no purpose - like the teenage girls I saw going somewhere with a sledge.
At least I think it was a sledge. When I think of a sledge I think of Rosebud, something that you could confidently attach huskies or at least younger siblings to for power. Something which, and this is important, gives you the illusion of steering.
It is an illusion, when you’re speeding on snow you are obviously not in charge of your own destiny. All you have to do to see this demonstrated is watch any snowy sport - there’s a reason downhill skiers wear helmets you know. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as seeing some athlete dressed in lycra pulled super-tight over muscles you’ll never, ever have, hammering down a slope just, as it turns out, a bit to fast to react to a bump. The next moment the guy is either the centre of a growing snowball or is creating a hugely satisfying shower of snow before his progress is arrested by friction, the crowd or, if he’s unlucky, a pine tree. And these are the experts!
The sledge this girl had was circular and had a couple of handles. What’s the point of that? Is going hell-for-leather down a snowy hill not exciting enough, does she also want the thrill of revolving slowly so that she can’t see that she’s about to be decanted onto a busy road?
Possibly this is a sensible approach but I prefer to tug uselessly at the sledge controls and at least have time to start weeping before something substantially dreadful happens and my transport goes from sledge to splinters in seconds.
Of course the real reason I prefer solid, robust sledges (yew for preference) is that unlike a svelte teen, I can’t fit on a tea tray.
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