We were promised (threatened?) proper snowfall; told to be ready for twelve to fifteen centimetres. This happens a lot and often the reality turns out to be somewhat less impressive than the prediction – a couple of centimetres, gone within a day or so. Not this time, though; this time the forecasters’ pledges were honoured in full. If anything, full plus a bit more.
The first decision was straightforward: the car stayed on the drive. The sledgers and snowboarders – of all ages, it has to be said – were out in force; particularly fond apparently of the slopes of the local golf club. If somebody didn’t emerge from the clubhouse brandishing either an injunction or a blunderbuss, I’d be very surprised.
Ducks, swans and geese got fed and were noisily grateful. At least those who muscled their way to the front of the queue got fed; we had nowhere near enough to go around. We were lucky enough to spot a handful of fiedfares, a couple of yellowhammers, some sort of bunting (‘some sort’ is as specific as we can be, where buntings are concerned), and get the best and longest view we’ve ever had of a bullfinch; a bullfinch which, to begin with, I expertly identified as an ‘odd looking robin’.
The safety markings on the railway bridge (opposite) made for a nice splash of colour, when viewed across the frozen pond. The bridge is occasionally vulnerable to large trucks, which probably shouldn’t be on that lane and certainly shouldn’t be attempting to get under that bridge. Rail chaos invariably ensues for at least the rest of that day.
The trains were running today, though, including a slow freight which came lumbering out of the driving snowstorm, taking something from somewhere to somewhere else.
I’m no better with railway wagon identification than I am with buntings.