The weather took a turn for the worst overnight, with places reasonably close to us getting snow (including around my mum’s house, a fact we didn’t know when Carole set off to take her home this morning after an outing to Chatsworth yesterday). When I went up to bed last night, the street was under a decent layer of twinkly ice which all looked to have dispersed by this morning.
It hadn’t, as we found out when Carole – very much the Scott to this tale’s Antarctic (without the death) – tried to go to Tesco for a can of Coke she didn’t really need and only made it to the end of the road before she was too scared of falling arse over tit.
And then the shopping arrived in the van and, during the unloading process, I asked the driver if he was having fun with the weather this morning. Which, apparently, was the wrong thing to do.
“It’s treacherous,” he said. “But the main thing you need to worry about is that you have your shopping.”
Oh. Okay then. Fine. Because I was asking you what it was like out and about because you were the first person I had met this morning who had been out further than the end of our road. You could tell me tales of the wasteland beyond the junction. Of how the weather had decimated the population and the survivors were scavenging for food. Or, you know, that all the roads were gritted and everything was hunky dory. But you didn’t do any of that.
Normally the delivery guys go off on one about anything – Artificial Intelligence taking over the world, for example – and I can do nothing to stop them. The one time I want to know something about the world beyond my doorstep and I’m shut down at the first hurdle. All I knew, when he left, was that it was treacherous. Other than that we were basing everything on the fact that Carole couldn’t get any pop because she’d slide down the hill and into the canal.
And treacherous doesn’t really clear anything up. It could mean that the weather was deceptive or guilty of betrayal. Which was unlikely, but you never know in these situations. Or, more likely, that the weather presented hidden or unpredictable dangers. But if they’re hidden or unpredictable then just telling me the weather is treacherous tells me absolutely nothing about it.
So we ended up just sitting in the house, watching water drip off things until we were satisfied it was less treacherous. And then it turned out that the route to my mum’s was lined with snow. Which was hidden and unpredictable from our position of no snow in Huddersfield.
So, in a way, that driver was right.
But I only had to worry about the fact I had my shopping.