As the snow thaws and the ice slowly begins to melt I realise that this could possibly be my last winter here in the UK, well as a resident at least.
Over the past several days the weather has totally dominated the news, schools closed, transport in chaos and total anarchy at the airports. If you did not live here you would hardly believe that just a few inches of snow can bring the country to a complete halt. Yet even though people are moaning about the snow I am not one of them.
Growing up in the UK I am old enough to remember the winters of 1981/82. Harsh snow covered the country in a blanket. I was in hospital for the winter of 81 but can still vividly remember the 82 winter. Schools were closed as the heating would not work yet I cannot recall there being this level of madness nor complaints about not getting to work. Trains were cancelled as were the buses yet people still made their way in. Maybe this is due to the culture of work has totally changed over the last 30 years. Working from home was impossible then, let alone the thought of remotely accessing a computer from your own home.
Yet through all of this moaning and madness I gaze out of the train window and sigh a deep sigh. London is beautiful when it’s covered by a blanket of white, it looks serene and peaceful. People seem friendlier when it’s snowing, akin to being taken back to their childhood. Children seem to forget the electronic gadgets that shackle them to their bedrooms and venture outside for a rare moment of bonding with total strangers.
That is the magic of winter, a time where all thoughts of animosity and worries are forgotten and those huddled in a warm bar by the fire, or those in the field playing merrily, and even those who suddenly begin to talk to strangers waiting for a train there is no doubt that it is the most special of seasons.
