Snowed In!

Well no, not really snowed in. Hardly. Really? You call that a snowstorm? (At least they're not silly enough to name every single snowstorm...). Ever since I'd moved here I had been warned that even the slightest bit of snow shut down the country and people would just hide and not even know what to do with themselves. Well it snowed (what I would consider to be) a little bit on Friday, all throughout the day. I'd offered to bring my other American work-buddy cohort back to my area with me, as she is looking for a flat in a more city-city, but for the time being had been set up through work with a flat "near" work. (Though it still takes her 1-2 hours to get in via public transport). But wouldn't you know, shortly after we left work, her landlord-to-be cancelled the flat viewing on account of the snow. (It does seem like a good excuse for stuff here). So I offered her a ride back to her place. Which unlike my commute of primarily motorways, involves typical residential cul-de-sac side street areas. So I skittered and slid us in my Kittymobile through the barely treated streets, got her home safely, and then had to scramble to get back to my home in time to grab my bag and catch the train to London. Well, Google Maps had already told me that my normal 40 minute commute would be over an hour to get back, as the traffic view on Google Maps shows the motorway home bleeding red almost all the way. So I guess having to take the sidestreets home wasn't too much worse. But I must say, taking frenzied and frantic confusing roundabouts, and adding slippery snow? Character building, to say the least... but fortunately there wasn't terrible traffic, and fortunately my route involved going *down* a hill that I saw many cars spinning their wheels and struggling to get up. So I made it back home with just barely enough time to spare to throw a few more items into my rolling weekend suitcase and dash down the street to the train station. Or rather skitter and scuffle and drag my suitcase which doesn't really "roll" very well when the sidewalk is covered in snow. I go to the machine in the station, insert the credit card used to buy the tickets I booked, print them out, just as I hear an announcement over the loudspeaker that my train is cancelled. And of course, the overused national tagline, "We apologise for any inconvenience caused.". (It's either that, or "We're going to be dysfunctional and useless. So it's up to you to plan accordingly for it." plus, of course, more apologies.). Yeah. Uh-huh. Ok, so I go deeper into the station, look around for someone who looks useful, go to the actual ticket agent, and ask "So now what? How do I get to London?" He tells me since my train was cancelled, I can just use my ticket for whatever next train, which I figured would be the case. He tells me there's one coming in a little while, but not to this station, at a nearby station, so I'd have to catch it from there. Ready to face the annoyance of walking through the snow to the other station, I ask the man "How do I get to that station?". To which he replies, "Take the next train there, it'll be arriving on Platform 3". Oh, right, whew, that's easy enough. I don't have to walk the extra mile or so to the next station. Silly me. So I catch said train, take it one station down, check the schedule board there and yes, train to London, 4:53pm. I still had a bit of time. So I wait. And wait and wait. And then the display says the train will come at 5:07. And then the display just says vaguely "Delayed", as an announcement comes on over the loudspeaker that the train is delayed because it is stuck at the station I'd just come from. What? I thought the train wasn't even traveling from there! I had no idea what was going on, and quickly realized nobody else did either. So finally the train arrives, not as crowded as I'd feared, since it seemed all these people waiting to go to London had to be rescheduled to this train. So I get on the train, text Hubby to let him know what's going on and when I should be arriving, listen to my tunes, and get ready for the usual nearly 2 hour train ride. Next thing I know, after not even through a whole CD's worth of music, the train is stopping and we're all told we need to get out at this station and wait for the next train that's coming along because something, blah blah snow, blah blah excuses. At this point I'm starting to wonder "Why can some of the trains apparently make it through the snow ok and others can't?" I don't know. And furthermore, for how many years has this country been getting snow? It's not like it's a surprise. It IS wintertime. Other countries that have proper more consistent snow have seemingly perfectly functioning railway systems. So after waiting out in the cold at some station, not knowing where exactly I was, in anticipation of the train, it finally shows up, and thankfully brings me, with no further interruptions, into good old Marylebone station ("Home Base" station from when I stayed in London for my project in college, if I haven't already mentioned that) as planned. Well a few hours later than planned, but I've learned to not expect much. On the plus side, I had some time to kill while waiting for Hubby at the station, and I found that there is a branch of Paul there, this yummy French Patisserie style bakery chain that sells French macarons. 
It snowed for a good part of the weekend, but even still it amounted to maybe a whopping less-than-half-a-foot. But still, as people in this part of the world promised me, it was enough to cause major disruptions to society.

300+ Flights from Heathrow Airport Cancelled Due to Snow

Really?...

A coworker of mine told me about the time he was visiting the states, driving on the Mass Pike in the snow, he and his fellow Brits pretty timid with the snow, creeping along at maybe 20 mph down the highway, everyone else, of course, zooming by them. Yes, New Englanders seem a bit more... "robust" in some ways than "Old Englanders".

It was still snowy enough this morning on my way into work. Roads were clear, but there was still plenty of pretty snow around elsewhere. While I normally park in the farther away makeshift parking lot on the grass (to save myself the hassle of trying to find a space in the closer formal paved lot), I decided to park in the paved lot thinking at least it'll have to be plowed and not as much of a hassle to park in as the snowy grassy plot of land. Ha. Silly me, what was I thinking? Plow is not even in their vocabulary. (Literally. I was typing an email about it, and spellcheck objected to "plow", insisting it is not a word or is a misspelling). I lurched onto the snow-covered paved lot and after nearly taking out the car next to mine's side mirror, I scooted into a snow-covered space. Fortunately my car didn't get stuck in the snow upon leaving, as I'd feared it might. The drive home was actually surprisingly pleasant and free and clear, probably because people were still hiding from the snow. It was one of the few commutes home where for a good stretch of the motorway, the variable speed limit displays weren't showing anything (implying the default 70 mph speed limit. Or so I think. Who knows, I haven't really been formally trained in driving here!)