The threat of snow last weekend gave us some unexpected visitors on Saturday night. My Aunt Liz and Uncle Stephen (or Ankle Stephen as Rachel pronounces it) decided that because of the weather forecast, they would take up my offer of a bed for the night, before their flight from Gatwick on Sunday morning. I love having people to stay but we were in the throes of swopping all the bedrooms around so it was a fairly chaotic scene for them to arrive into.
Previously, guests had been tucked away on the top floor in our spare bedroom/Mark’s study, but Mark had just finished painting it to be our bedroom and we’d half moved in, so the guests are now relegated to the slightly less private, smallest bedroom, next to the bathroom (soon to be Patrick’s.) It is not an ideal position, apart from the obvious bathroom disturbances, it also has the mouse cage right outside the door. So late that night, I found myself creeping along the landing to quieten the mice, for fear they may be keeping our guests awake. The person who came up with the phrase ‘as quiet as a mouse’ was clearly not talking about the caged variety. I shooed them off and disabled their running wheel.
I needn’t have been concerned about the mice waking Stephen and Liz though, far more intrusive was Rachel, who barged into their room at half past two in the morning, dazed and confused and looking for me.
The next day, the snow came as predicted, but Stephen and Liz got away to Grenada (albeit a little delayed) and seemed none the worse for their interrupted night.
The children were all keen to pile out in the snow, and once I had unearthed all the waterproofs and gloves and snow gear, (why do I never believe it will snow until it’s here?, I am never prepared) then sledging and igloo building fun was had by all. All the neighbours and children were out in the street defending their fortresses from snowball attacks and generally being the sociable neighbours we are, with coffees and hot chocolates all round.
Come Monday, the snow was thawing fast and it was school as usual. Ben and Patrick were mucking about in it on the way to school, and got bawled out for throwing snowballs by the head teacher, who was on the war path. This was mainly directed at Ben; this is the boy who reckons he might be the only child in his class not to have been told off this academic year, so there goes his perfect record. Ben looked stunned to say the least.
I felt sorry for him being yelled at and I told Dad about it when I got home from the school run. Dad told me that this Monday was also the anniversary of a walloping he’d had from a teacher at school. ‘His dancing trauma’ he described it as. The circumstance was the death of King George, which was announced on the radio during a music and movement class he was doing. They interrupted the broadcast and said that all programmes were cancelled (as a sign of respect) and solemn music was played instead. It was at this point that my Dad, aged 7, continued with his dancing, whereupon the teacher clobbered him for his disrespect. He has never danced since.
Dad had the utmost sympathy for Ben and gave it when he saw him after school. Dad reasoned that the head just wasn’t going to win that one, and she’d have a tough old fight with that particular issue, as boys had been throwing snowballs since time began! Ben, being Ben, pointed out ‘Well actually Grandpa, I think you’ll find it wouldn’t be since time began, as it was quite a lot hotter then and there wouldn’t be any snow, I think you probably mean since the first snow.’
‘Ahh yes, Ben, you are right, I would mean that.’
While smart Alec, Ben, was correcting Grandpa on the weather evolution starting ‘when time began,’ my other son was collecting snowballs and putting them in the fridge.
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