I don’t think we have average or ‘ordinary’ winters any longer. We just get extremes that arrive and won’t go away. It seems to have rained and blown non-stop for about a month – a traffic jam of deep depressions queuing up to batter the UK.
Finally the ordeal has stopped. Well, only in one small way actually. The depressions, at least for the time being, have decided to vent their fury somewhere else. The problem is that the water lying over vast stretches of the countryside is still there, and it’s still filtering its way into rivers that are still, as I write, creating new flooding misery for people downstream who might, quite reasonably, have thought that the worst was over. And if you are flooded then the misery isn’t going to be over any time soon. I am forever grateful that we chose to live on higher ground.
The last month has also been mild – no frosts until the last two or three days. Last night looked like it was the coldest night of the winter so far. When I pulled back the curtains this morning I looked out over white-frosted roofs and gardens. Time to take the camera with me to fetch the Sunday papers.
It’s a five-minute walk each way to the Petrol station on the main road at the edge of our village. And hiding under the hedgerows at 10:30 this morning, pockets of frost were still lingering and I grabbed a shot. Nothing special, but it’s nice to admire Jack Frost’s work. Better than mud and pools of water any day.