Sunday 7th February 2921

We live in the south east of England, and if the conditions are right, this area can get large amounts of snow. Usually when the snow clouds cross the channel from France and pick up moisture from the sea, then dump it all on us. Back in 2009, just after we moved into St Maggies, we were cut off for two days due to drifts 12 feet hight, the next two years we had snow that made Station Road impossible to use for a time, but nothing like that first year.

So, when the SE of England was forecast to have up to eight inches of snow, to be honest, our innerchildren were excited, especially as it was due at the weekend, but we have heard this several times, and nothing came of it.

So, we woke up on Sunday morning with dreams of snow, depp and crisp and even, but were confronted by rain and no snow, just a hint of white on grass where sleet had yet to melt. It was going to be another of those times, we thought.

We were wrong.

Sleet turned to snow, and soon began to settle. Not much at first, but the white on the lawnmeadow spread, hedges soon had a white edge. Flurries turned heavier and soon the rest of the village the other side of the Dip was lost in the heavy snow.

Jen called to say she would not be coming for Sunday lunch, and the cats stared at the cat flap, apparently complaining that it no longer lead to a garden they recognised. And could we do something about it?

We couldn't.

It never really got fully light, leaden clouds produced snow all through te morning, easing in the afternoon, and finally pausing just before sunset, allowing me to snap the scene, but then as darkenss fell, snow resturned.

We went nowhere. We could have gone to the end of the street to look at how bad the ice was, but we would have to do it again in the morning before Jools went to work.

So I cooked Sunday unch: roast beef, steamed vegetables, roast potatoes and Yorkshire puddings and lashings of gravy.

We also tried out the new pink fizz; a little sweet, but we will force it down on a regular basis.

We washed up, and I setttle down for an afternoon of footy on the tellybox; maybe Leicester v Wolves first, then Liverpool v Citeh, and in the latter game, after a dull first half, the second half burst into life and Citeh scored four, Liverpool just one.

Well.

And then came the "heating incident".

IN the middle of the afternoon, it was very warm in the house, maybe even hot. My that could have been down to lunch. Anyway, as the afternoon went on, it become comfortable, and then chilly before downright cold.

Jools said she had put her cardigan on, and turned the radiators on in the spare room and bathroom. I checked the thermostat and founf it was below 14 degrees and the heating had not switched on.

We went into the utility room to stare at the boiler. We tried to reset it, then restart it. Nothing worked.

We looked for, and found the intruction book and found little useful.

We were about to call the engineer, when I thought I should check the time in our wardrobe. Just as well, as it was dead.

I checked the main fuze box, and nothing had tripped.

Jools then looked underneath the timer, and along to find the timer power switch, that wasn't quite on or off.

She switched it to on, and the boiler fired into life and the water punp started.

We think one of more of the cats were playing, using it as an escape route, squeezed between the blanket box and wall, thus knocking off the power.

Anyway, all sorted and the house warmed up quickly.

We have leftover soup and the last of the loaf I made the previous week, which was rather lovely, even if I say so myself.

Outside, the sun reflected what light there was, and so the view out of the back of the house was as bright as if there had been a full moon. Snow stopped just before bed time, so we went to bed.