I'm Snow Angel

So. Having got my frustration at the snow off my chest, I settled down last Friday evening with the knowledge that Eldest Daughter and Captain Oz had landed safely at Heathrow and were going to be spending the night at the hotel I’d booked for them, until I could hopefully drive there on Saturday morning to pick them up.

I was pottering around cooking muffins (yay! I now have an oven that works - a novelty that hasn’t worn off. Yet…), while resisting the urge to watch the film The Day After Tomorrow, when there was a knock at the door. Eldest Daughter and Captain Oz had trekked across London and half of Essex via trains and cabs and were standing on the doorstep. They’d considered staying at the hotel, but Eldest Daughter just wanted to get home to her mum. Aww.

For months Captain Oz has been saying he hopes it snows while they’re here (hmm, there’s blame to be apportioned here somewhere) and apparently had his nose pressed up against the cab window on the way here, expressing his delight. I’m sure the cab owner also expressed his delight at the nose prints on his window later.

According to Eldest Daughter, something that had Captain Oz giggling like a schoolboy while on the Underground was the name of a station - Cockfosters. With that in mind, I’ve bought him a bottle of Cockburn’s Port which, no doubt, will provide no end of amusement for him on Christmas Day. If all else fails, and there’s nothing to watch except repeats on TV, we’ll just stick him in a corner with the bottle and let him laugh himself silly.

(For those who may not know, Cockburn’s has a silent ‘ck’ and so is pronounced Coburn’s. Some snobby snob somewhere obviously couldn’t hack the thought of their precious concoction being associated with either a rooster or a penis. Although I suppose, maybe, just maybe, they decided on a silent ‘ck’ as they were worried people would think it does what it says on the label. Ouch. Not a good selling point I wouldn’t have thought. Or I could be barking up the completely wrong tree and there’s a perfectly valid historical reason for the snobby snob pronunciation. Whatever. I like my version. It amuses me.)

Monday saw the three of us heading off to Stansted Airport to fly to Belfast, but our flight was delayed due to bad weather in Northern Ireland. It was snowing heavily there – “Fantastic!” said Captain Oz, “Oh shit!” said Eldest Daughter and I. Captain Oz has no idea of the disruption snow causes here and has a child-like wonder for it. We see it for what it is – great if you don’t have to go anywhere, a pain in the arse if you do.

Standing outside Belfast Airport, Captain Oz turned his face upwards and opened his mouth, catching snowflakes. “He’s from Australia,” said Eldest Daughter by way of explanation to a bemused bus queue. “If it’s yellow, don’t eat it,” was my advice to Captain Oz. I’ve never seen anyone choke on a snowflake before. Heh.

Tuesday morning saw us back at the airport with a bit of time to kill before our flight home. I would like to point out that for all my previous, but in my opinion justified, whinging, I sometimes enjoy the snow:

As I stood up, the snow started to make its way down the inside of my jeans, so I ended up jumping up and down like a mad woman (well, if the cap fits…), laughing and shrieking at the same time.

Once I’d stopped wailing like a banshee and the other two had stopped laughing at me, I added a halo to my angel. (Halo? Really? *snort*)

After learning from my mistake, Eldest Daughter tucked her jumper into her jeans and had a go too:

As did Captain Oz:

I just hope it wasn’t a slow news day in Northern Ireland on Tuesday, because if it was and you happen to be in that vicinity, well, now you know who the nutters were.

Oh yes, before I forget, I also unleashed my inner blonde.

While having breakfast in Northern Ireland, I silently wondered why it wasn’t called a ‘Full English Breakfast’, but a ‘Full Ulster Breakfast’. Took me ages to cotton on.

I worry about myself sometimes.