Snow does different things to different people. We like it less as we get older, but, whatever your age, it makes us cheerfully garrulous. We talk to neighbours, strangers and friends with a common abandon. It’s Monday morning, the schools have already closed, and the children have made a snowman and are dragging out the sledges.
I should be in London writing this, but the roads outside the house are blocked and, as I gather from my new talkative friends, the trains are no better. I give up and fire up the computer. Monday is press day for this magazine, and phoning the office, it soon becomes clear that only a handful of the Country Life team, those who live in London, have been able to battle through the snow and walk to the office.
Suddenly, the race is on to pass all sorts of pages by noon with just a skeleton staff, who find themselves taking responsibility for all kinds of things that normally don’t concern them. If you are reading this, then they made it. And I thank them. Through the window, I can see that it is still snowing hard, and I begin to wonder whether I will be able to get to work tomorrow…
