Holding out for a hero

At times like this what us girls need is not some suave well-mannered new man but a bloke from Powys with a snow blower....

Cometh the hour, cometh that man bloke.

He and his mate on the digger are making glacial progress along the lane. One blows and the other scrapes.

I stumble across the drifts at hedge height to meet them for a progress report.

There is a vague possibility that they will reach us later today but I'm not holding my breath. Tomorrow maybe? My new friend tells me he'll be back 'on the bins' then and doesn't know if they will find anyone to replace him on the 'blower. So when we'll actually be able to drive out is anyone's guess.

In truth that's not really a hardship - there is still food in the freezer and we have not resorted to burning the furniture yet.

We can just sit it out. It's those who have to work in such conditions - the farmers and the road clearers who are the heroes of the hour. I don't think that anyone, ever, got mentioned in despatches for staying indoors and looking out of the window.

A gap year....

Do you suppose that if I creep back in here quietly, don't bang any metaphorical doors or switch on any metaphorical bright lights, I can settle back in without any fuss - without disturbing anyone?


It's not that I've been anywhere in the true 'gap year' sense - the past 12 months have been spent in much the same way as the previous twelve months, and indeed, the twelve months before that - mooching around the top  of this low mountain. There have been highs and lows of course but somehow recording the minutiae of life in the small mountain kingdom lost its sparkle and it seemed the best solution was to take a break.


But now maybe I should open the door again and let some of the day-to-day events creep in - how else I am going to know, in years to come, the date when the first swallow arrived or what the Young Farmers did in the drama competition or indeed just how deep the snowdrifts were in March 2013....

...and since that question was on every reader's lips, the answer is deep. Very deep.

Behind these drifts is a field gate - but impossible to reach today. Trelystan is cut off.

Our lane and the bigger lane it joins have filled in with snow - yes, we did have quite a lot but it's those pesky winds which have been the problem.


We can walk up so far and then any progress is impossible.

Our farming neighbours are coming over from Fir House by quad bike to feed the stock that is over here. By the chorus of 'moos' currently coming from the barn I guess that someone has just turned up with a bag of feed.

By now we're resigned to staying put - the larder is reasonably well-stocked....although I imagine in a few days time our diet will comprise of curious odds and ends. There is a comforting amount of sloe gin. And plenty of marmalade. The Glam Ass seems to have got over his attack of cabin fever, is less grumpy and has taken to his shed making dozens of bird houses. (Each one a work of art.Trust me. Orders taken.)

The snow blower was spotted yesterday making slow but dramatic progress in our direction but has not been seen since. The driver apparently said it would take 2 or 3 days to get to us and has probably been diverted anyway to clear the road over Long Mountain where feed trucks need to go.

So we'll sit tight. I have a lovely new computer with lots of 'bells and whistles' to explore so will be happily occupied until the roads are cleared or a thaw sets in.

Oh, and another thing. Yes, British Summertime starts on Sunday. No comment.