A WHITEOUT? NO, AN ANTICLIMAX!

It was towards the end of last week that the early warnings of severe wintry weather first came to my attention. It became rapidly obvious that we could expect blizzard conditions and a whiteout during Monday. I had booked my sports car in for its annual MOT and service on that day so I call by the garage on Saturday to reschedule. "Let's see what happens first" they responsed, "They usually forecast it to be much worse than the reality". So we left it that I would phone them on Monday if I needed to cancel.

Sunday evening we had light snow showers and there was a light covering of snow. By Monday morning a little more snow had arrived and our side roads had a thin compacted layer of snow on them. Several neighbours set off to work but then returned home. We live over the brow of a hill and it is the first few hundred yards that cause the problems. Mrs Troy, despite buying a 4x4 for these very conditions, decided to get the bus to work. I walked Troy Junior to school in about one to two inches of snow.

Looking at the 24 hours local weather summary on the BBC Weather website I could see that heavy snow was being forecast for the Ipswich area from midday to six pm. Accordingly I cancelled the car MOT and service. I may have got the car there but would I be able to collect it and get it home later? Certainly not if the forecast was correct.

Shortly after midday it began to snow lightly but the snowflakes were as small as washing machine powder and as dry. Only a relatively small amount actually settled. Going down to the school after 3pm I noticed the snow was turning to light sleet. After collect Troy Junior we hurried home to build what in my childhood was called a snowman (but now I had better say snowperson). The snow was wet and melting. We built a tall thin snowperson, added a mouth, nose and eyes and then on closer inspection found that we had actually built a snowdog. Here it is, with Troy Junior hiding behind it:



The sleet turned to rain. This morning most of our snow has gone taking our new pet dog with it:

Growing up in Yorkshire between the mid 1950's and mid 1970's I remember what blizzards and severe snowstorms were really like. I remember the snow lasting for days. I remember the buses still running and providing a public service unlike London on Monday.

Perhaps we've just been lucky with the weather here? So now, and purely in the interests of meteorological research, I find myself asking my regular army of female bloggers with their wide geographical base these simple questions :-

Did you get the six to eight inches you were promised on Sunday night? Was it an anticlimax for you? (And please, these are innocent questions so no need to be smutty).