It’s all supposed to be happening this weekend. On Saturday, Linda has a rehearsal with one choir in the morning, and a concert with another, way up in Whitchurch. I’m supposed to be reading at an Amnesty concert in Broseley, but I can’t because I’ve promised to babysit the grandkids in Birmingham, it being the first weekend of my son’s Flatpack Film Festival. And if either of us happened to be free that evening, a friend has a birthday party here in Much Wenlock, in the village hall I used to help run.
As it happens, the only one of those things to happen is the Amnesty concert, and it happens without me. I cried off the babysitting, and everything else, because I was nursing a head full of cold. Linda’s concert was cancelled because of snow, which also stopped her getting to her rehearsal. For the first time ever we’ve had a snow plough come down our cul-de-sac, and then onto our drive (which is a continuation of the road.) So the drive is immaculate. But one result of that process is that it’s built up a wall of snow between our drive and our carport, in which our car is marooned. When the weather getts better and my state improves, I might do something about that, but for now I’m staying put, in the warm.