“Why doesn’t it ever snow in Dorset?” said my daughter a few weeks ago. Little did she or I know that just round the corner was heavy snowfall preparing to cover the Dorset countryside. Despite being warned by the cheery BBC Weather lady that snow would hit the West, I had visions of a bit of sleet and a couple of days with the thermostat turned up. I was shocked when I drew back the curtains and discovered a blanket of snow covering the surrounding fields.
For the children it was a dream come true. They sprung from their beds enthusiastically and dressed in record speed, keen to get going on a snowman. Finally, I managed to lure them back inside with the bribe of hot chocolate and porridge before we began the mammoth task of suiting, booting and searching for gloves ahead of school. Just as the car was sufficiently de-iced and I had nipped back inside to grab the water bottles, the phone rang. It was my husband calling to let me know he was stranded at Basingstoke station on his way to London and needed rescuing. I mentally rattled through the morning’s schedule, which involved various appointments and packing ahead of our annual trip to Cambodia to see my brother. With a bit of juggling I could just about drive to Basingstoke and get back in time to pick up The Toddler.
I arrived at school and delighted in finding the most convenient parking space right outside the school gates. There were very few other people around but perhaps we were a little earlier than usual. The headmistress greeted me at the door standing by a large notice stating the school was closed. Help, I thought. That would mean driving to Basingstoke with three excitable children and two hyperactive dogs desperate for their morning walk. The worst of it was that we would have to drive at a snail’s pace due to the treacherous driving conditions, drawing out the agonising experience. At first, they were all entertained by the snow and the odd car stuck nose down in a ditch. However, after an hour of driving the arguments began. “He keeps touching me,” my daughter whined, “I need to go to the loo,” cried the Toddler, “Are we nearly there?” whinged my son.
Finally, we did manage to rescue my stranded husband who returned home to work in the kitchen seated with his back to the AGA for the rest of the afternoon. The children revelled in the snow and I attempted to start packing, constantly interrupted by endless requests for help with boots and gloves on and off.
Today, the school is closed again. So, it’s off for a leg wax and pedicure accompanied by three twittering starlings.
