I took this picture of a frosted web outside the house this morning after the freeze returned overnight with a vengeance. Is it me, or is this the first time that we've had a proper winter for many a year?
Forgive me for sounding like a pompous old so and so, but in my day, we had proper winters every year; frosts were virtually nightly and would set in for weeks at a time and you could guarantee a generous fall of snow at least once - and that meant the glory of a day off school.
A snowy day off school is a lifetime treasure, something to wear close to your heart to keep you warm when times are hard. My snowy school skives are among my fondest childhood memories.
They began with that strange glow in the room when you awake, an unusual brightness that burns like halogen behind the curtains. And then - when you open them!
Blinding glare from behind the frosted pane and a world that was drab and commonplace last night transformed into a playground of infinite adventure. The best bit of all, when Dad came in to say, with mock gravity, "I'm sorry kids - I don't think we will make it to school today." Such unadulterated joy has seldom, if ever, been replicated in adulthood.
But I digress. Winters were, as I say, more reliable then, and the other day I had a revelatory thought. When was the last time I saw an icicle?
They seemed to be everywhere in the rosy memories of youthful winters; hanging from the stable eaves, glass daggers that Dad had to remove with a broom in case - in my fevered imagination - they would descend like a flashing blade and plunge into you from above.
They hung heavily from the trees on occasion, refracting light in remarkable rainbows. Standpipes built great thick crusts of them, growing and shrinking almost visibly throughout the day and night.
But I can't remember the last time I saw an icicle. Can you?
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