No wrong kind of snow...
BUT no train drivers either!
When I woke this morning and saw what a grey day it was - the world seemed to become a dank, woolly mass just beyond the bungalow at the bottom of the garden - I almost wished that I were not retired. The train strike would have provided the perfect excuse to roll over and go back to sleep and raise a metaphorical two-finger salute to the daily commute.
I really can't be bothered to rehearse the sorry tale of train travel in south-east England these past few months. Suffice it to say that the matter seems to be escalating into a right royal battle between left-wing trades unions, an incompetent employer and a government reluctant to step in. Things have become so bad that some commuters have resigned their jobs, fed up with never knowing just when - or even if - they would get to work in the mornings and back home in the evenings. There are tales (probably apocryphal) of employers refusing to recruit staff from the affected area. But worse than this, to my mind, is the fact that some people needing to travel to specialist hospitals in London for treatment have been unable to do so. A friend of mine has had to cancel two appointments at the Brompton Hospital because they were on strike days. (I have offered to drive him to the next appointment if a further strike is called.)
The local paper has pieces about the strikes on what seems to be a daily basis. I usually read the online version, complete with readers' comments - but I get annoyed at the way the comment-makers shout at each other using the same old, same old left- and right-wing phrases. I MUST stop reading them!
Well, here's a less stressful picture, one I took while sitting in the car. I've just discovered it buried deep in the computer!