BALTIC-RELATED FUN

 

When I lived in California, as I did until comparatively recently, people often said to 

me, ‘Oh but you’re English, don’t you miss the seasons?’

And I always said, ‘No I bloody don’t.’

 

I was born and brought up in Sheffield, which is built on seven hills.  The school I went to was two bus rides away from where I lived. The first bus took me down from the heights of Longley, then Gleadless when we moved, into the centre of town where I took another bus up a different, less steep, hill to school.  

 

However bad the snow was, I could usually get to school: it was getting home that was the problem.  After school, the bus came down the shortish hill into the centre of town but then I had to get up the other, much steeper hill to get home.  Because of ice, snow, bad road conditions, and perhaps the occasional disgruntled driver, buses were delayed or canceled and sometimes I had to walk – yes WALK - all the way home.  Up hill in the snow and ice.  Arguably it turned me into a flaneur but at the time I could have done without it.  

 

By the time I went to university in the softer, warmer south I was more than happy to leave all the snow and all the hassle behind.

 

And now, after more than a decade and a half in LA, I find myself living in Essex, hardly the frozen wastes, but we are currently experiencing Storm Darcy – the Bitch from the Baltic - and yes we have snow.  This does not fill me with joy.

 

Still, the ground here is fairly level and I don’t have to rely on buses so of course on a snowy Sunday a man, or a woman, has to go out walking.  It was OK, really, honestly, not bitterly cold and the snow was still soft and not frozen into ice slicks. I didn’t fall down even once.

 

There was a walk to be had, there were pictures to be taken, there was something to write about.  This makes many things tolerable.  I did what I could. 

 

Do you want to see a picture of me in the snow in California?  Of course you do.  The photo below was taken in Death Valley, one January.  I am on high ground and not overdressed, the sun is shining, and just a short drive down the hill there is warmth, dunes, and a not terrible motel.

 

How very different from the home life of our own dear Sheffielders.