‘What are the odds’, I asked as we crunched through the deep snow into the woods, ‘of us getting out of here without being smacked on the head by falling snow?’ ‘Low,’ replied Noel, as a large plop of snow landed next to him. ‘Make that vanishingly small’ he said as I dodged a bough-full which spattered the back of my neck with meltwater.
Last night’s snow covered Yorkshire and. for all I know, the rest of the country, with a thick fluffy fleece. The road outside became smaller as the snow grew on cars, trees and any creature that stood still long enough.
It was gorgeous, but not destined to stay for long with rain forecast to wash it all away, so there was no time to lose, we wanted to be out there and play. Even though midnight was approaching, I had to persuade Noel that heading up to the golf course to ski from the 18th hole by the light of his headtorch probably wasn’t a good idea. He’d skied down a neighbouring street the other day, taking off on the speedbumps,and was desperate to get out on his skis again, with this deeper and better snow.Maybe not champagne powder, but as good as the head on a pint of Tetley’s.
At first light, we were off, camera in hand, to capture the loveliness of the village. Skiing was out of the question, already a roof-full of snow had migrated to the conservatory and was making its way to ground level and water was dripping from every fence, sign and abandoned car. These were the sort of conditions where only rental skis would do, our own were far too valuable!.
We had to be quick, I told Noel, or there would be no snow left. Noel smiled enigmatically, he does maths and physics and things like that, he knew the snow would be around for at least the rest of the day.
So much snow had fallen that bendy branches on the trees in Calverley Woods were weighted down, all it took was one shake of the trunk by mischievous hands. And so it was that neither of us left the woods with snow-free heads. Who’d have guessed it, eh?