To those watching the news on TV last Monday, it may have seemed that as London came to a standstill because of 15cm of snow (and here we should really stop and ask ourselves why a city like this went into total chaos because of 15cm of snow, which may have been the largest snowfall in 18 years, but hardly out of this world) we were all out in the nearest open space, building snowmen and having snowball fights.
Well let me set the record straight here. We weren’t. OK, some of us were: those whose children’s schools were closed and who chose to spend the day bonding with them, or who live in the suburbs, where underground trains go over ground, or whose employers have enough of a heart to think, “OK, this may cost us a few bob, but hey, let’s give our staff a break and let them stay warm inside, particularly since the BBC is warning people to stay home, unless absolute necessary”.
Sadly, I belong to none of the above categories, so following a lot of text messaging between colleagues, and checking what lines were operating or not (mine was the only line that was fully operational) I had to brave the elements and join the unfortunate lot making their way to work on a Monday morning, looking even more miserable than usual. You lot by now know how I feel about the cold, so I don’t need to elaborate on my levels of enthusiasm.
Oh, did I mention that according to my phone, the temperature was somewhere around the -3°C mark?
The first part of the journey was surprisingly smooth. I put a happy soundtrack on, so for all intents and purposes, it could have been summer in Ibiza and the temperature was in the high 30s, and I was lying there, getting browner and browner … and then a voice came on the tannoy announcing that my destination station was closed, which left me with the option of either going back home and taking a day’s holiday or walking all the way from Victoria station to the office, not something I like to do in more clement weather, let alone on a most unpleasant day of the year. Much as I’d like to dissociate myself from my Catholic roots, the work ethic that has been ingrained in me at baptism won the battle, and in no time I was out on the street, feeling a bit like a giraffe at a skating rink.
Thankfully, Significant Other had suggested I wear his sensible butch hiking shoes (which I’ve been secretly craving to throw away) which made the walk slightly less of a nightmare.
Three quarters of an hour later, and feeling like I’d conquered Kilimanjaro, I got to the office, half an hour late, yet still the first one there.
It turned out to be not much of a day, with not even one phone call coming through.
New Flat Mate, who got sent back home upon arrival, kept sending text messages with updates. At least we were allowed to go at 4 p.m., by which time, it had stopped snowing.
The journey home turned out to be surprisingly smooth – even allowing me to stop and buy some groceries on the way – and boy was I happy to get there in the end. It was all warm and cosy, the windows all steamed up, blocking the view outside so I didn’t even have to see another snowflake.
Well, until the next morning, by which time it had all hardened up and turned to ice, but by then the city was functioning again, so getting around on public transport was slightly easier – though the streets were a lot more slippier!

Source: Weekender, February 7, 2009