The thing I hate secondmost about being English is our inability to cope with the weather. I suspect that Gordon will make some disparaging comment about London, but I remember similar experiences in South Manchester.
I'm lucky, it took me only slightly longer than normal to get home. This was because a) I stupidly went to the back door of the Tube Statiion which always closes at 7 pm and b) the District line was supended due to an 'incident' at Mansion House, which is definitely below ground so probably wasn't weather-related but a random London Underground thing.
I had to walk to Victoria, which was no great hardship. Okay, my slightly-too-long-trousers got slightly damp from trailing though the slush but, hey, we'd had all of, ooh, half an inch of snow. It didn't even feel especially cold - although I was reasonably well wrapped up. I arrived just in time for my train which left on time and didn't seem adversely affected by the weather. My bus came almost immediately, although I was surprised to see so many people at bus stops at this time of night.
And then we reached the South Circular. A woman and two children got on at the penultimate stop and explained they had walked from Tulse Hill and were grateful for just one stop. I looked to my right and I could see eight buses, including five Routemasters, outside my house and another four in the tailback which was further than I had ever seen it on that road.
Get a grip. It's a light flurry of slow. Okay, I can probably rememeber with extreme clarity every incident of settled snow since about 1969, but still, it didn't even go up to my ankles.
Just because we generally have moderate temperate weather doesn't mean that we don't occasionally get "extremes". Why oh why oh why oh why can't we cope with it?
*Sigh*
