We had our first relatively big fall of snow last night. Over 25cm (or a foot for my metrically challenged American readership). I don't blog about anything under 20cm whereas back home 10cm is enough to lead the main evening news. And now you don't have enough sand and salt to grit the roads.
Jaysus, people. Ye wouldn't survive a March weekend in Hokkaido.
Mind you, the recent 'bad' weather back home has played havoc with the usual self introductory spiel I give to my classes at the start of each school year. After asking students to guess where I come from (answers usually range from the obvious - the US, Canada, Australia - to the geographically and linguistically challenged - Mexico, Brazil and once, rather memorably, Sudan), I tell them Ireland, teach them how to differentiate its pronunciation from Iceland, stress we are no longer part of the UK (and will pound to a pulp with my hurley anybody who says we are), and then wax long and lyrical about the mild and benign climate with which the Emerald Isle is blessed. A lush, green country where snow doesn't fall, merely 'sprinkles', a place where winter sports are unknown, and the paisti go leor run around barefooted, clad only in O'Neills' shorts and a hand-knit wool vest because, really, we have no such thing as 'winter' back home.
Not anymore. Now my introductions are grim accounts of unrelenting cold, akin to Scott of the Antarctic but without the levity and more whining about the feckin county council and its 'Let 'em freeze!' approach to road clearing.
We are currently packing our bags for our impending trip home and after watching the weather forecast for the coming week, it seems the shorts and t-shirts will have to be replaced with our finest fleeces and 900 fill down jackets, not to mention presents of 'Tried-and-Tested-in-Hokkaido' snow shovels for one and all.
No comments:
Post a Comment