As yet another almight flurry dumps on our village, I question my previous post. I know that in a few days time, when the trainline is still closed and the food supplies run short, my gusto for 'survival' will wear somewhat thin, and I will mourn the day my parents retured from their ex-pat life in sunny, humid Singapore. Where it never, ever snows. And yet, there is something delightful about readjusting oneself to the gloriously slow pace of life that run alongside snowdays. Granted, it's bloody freezing, and I can't get to my spinning class, but how much does that actually matter? I'm stuck in a house with two people I actually love, with central heating, with food, with my dog. I'm not freezing to death, I'm not without things to do, I'm not even without the internet. Even if I were, I have endless books and no imminent deadlines. From my seat I feel like a child staring in on their new snowglobe, as I watch the fat flakes twirling delicately from the milky sky to the carpet of snow that lies across our garden.
How would our society change, one wonders, if this happened every year? Would we live at a more manageable pace? Would there be less stress, less illness, less influence by 'slebs and the media? With the infiltration of the web, it seems unlikely, but there is something gorgeous about the simplicity of life without travel, with sights set only on survival, and not on world domination. I'm not such a fan of the -20 degree nights, but if a national standstill were scheduled for two weeks each year, I wouldn't complain (too loudly). But then, perhaps that's what Christmas is designed to be.
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