We were sent home early from college last night because of snow. I thought that Gerard was being overly cautious. Waking up this morning to five or six inches*, however, has rather changed my mind. I strapped on my boots, and stomped on outside. “There’s no buses,” said the woman at the stop, “I’ve been here since half seven.”
I nodded, and decided to walk. I marched throw the fat, falling, flakes to Tesco on Upper Chorlton Road. My colleague got back to me. “Don’t bother,” she said, “it’ll get worse today. Head home.”
Matt and Chaw were off too, clattering their way around the house and waking Kate up. They’re so inconsiderate sometimes, it’s very frustrating. It seems to have got worse recently too. Not move out bad, sure, but not good. I settled down to do a little work from home, but ended up on Facebook.
Dunk suggested a snowball fight, Chorlton vs Stretford. Perfect! Louise came round, and we all went to Longford Park. We played all against all, we played two on two. We played a game where the victim stood on a plinth, and the aim was to knock them off balance with snowballs. In the park, children built igloos and snowmen. I texted Pervy, “It’s like Hoth out here.” He liked it.
We went to Pi for dinner, and – thoroughly worn out – I slept like a baby.