The snow strikes Britain - and it hurts
'Isn't it lovely?' I said, smiling to a young girl. She was going back home to get into warmer and waterproof clothes, ready for a bit of sledging down the hill with her friend. By the time we got there, Arty and I, most of the sledgers had gone. My dear dog ran around in it, never having see snow before, and then met her old friend, Ted, for a quick swoosh around the slopes. She looked like a woolly mammoth without the trunk and tusks. 'It's great, isn't it?' said one of my neighbours, coming up the hill to find his daughter. 'Everyone's talking to each other and smiling.' It was true. This long-awaited snow reached us on Thursday afternoon. We'd had plenty of warning and were ready and waiting. We'd be snowed in for about two days, we reckoned, and that blitz spirit would see us through until the weekend. The red of the village phone box stood out against the blizzard, a beacon of Englishness in the village square. ...