But these things happen. We are all safe and warm and there is an undeniable romance to being snow-bound. Particularly in London where snow is more usually grey and slushy than thick, white and crunchy.
We have been consoling ourselves in some very good ways.
- We made a batch of snow toffee. O remembered it from reading Little House in the Big Woods, and I remembered that Jane Brocket wrote more detailed instructions in Cherry Cake and Ginger Beer. It was a roaring success, and we learnt that enamel pie tins were the best dishes to make it in, and that it works really well with golden syrup, as well as with maple syrup.
- In between episodes of cooking, I've curled up on the sofa, under my quilt, with a good book and a cup of tea. I am working my way through the Barbara Vine novels, and loving every minute of them. I have a couple of Penelope Lively books lined up next, which are also good for gobbling up greedily over a summer or winter holiday when there is idling to be done.
- Inspired by Calvin and Hobbes, the children built a murdered snowman and his killer - a long and fearsome snow crocodile - in the garden. The chickens are peering at it rather warily from their run.