Public service announcement: Derbyshire is closed.
We have ridiculous drifting snow, and nobody’s really been going anywhere all weekend, except out to play in the snow. (Seriously, Buxton, a town of 20,000 people was entirely cut off for 36 hours. I’m not sure anybody really noticed except the guy who maintains the exceptionally entertaining Buxton weather site. Admittedly, nobody ever really needs to get to Buxton, but still…)
Everything’s a bit weird here, like a curious time out of ordinary life. Venturing out is a major expedition involving a lot of layers and probably some hard work with a shovel.
Last night I had tickets for a concert, very luckily in The Right Direction, as there was only one road out that wasn’t blocked. I donned boots, waterproofs, etc, just to get as far as the car, and set off with some trepidation. Two miles down the road, there were no more drifts, and the road cleared. Ten miles away, all signs of snow had vanished. Not a single flake. It was a chilly evening, but people were going out and just doing things normally. I couldn’t stop staring. I even took my wellies off.
I had a lovely evening out doing rare and exotic things like driving a car over 30 mph, walking along pavements while wearing shoes, and seeing shops that were open after 5 pm. I drove back home, wondering if I’d been dreaming it all. Even in Whaley Bridge, things were a little wintery, but nothing remarkable. I decided my imagination must have been a bit overactive, and blamed cabin fever. Then as I drove up the last hill, suddenly there was snow blowing across the road from the eight foot drifts by the wall. Welcome home.
I’ve been able to see snow on the hills out of my bedroom window every day for over two months. Time for spring, I reckon…