On a cold and frosty morning

England and parts of France are currently shivering in temperatures that over here in Sweden can best be described as balmy, fairly warm and a side effect of global warming: – 5 C to – 7 C. It is provoking outbursts like “When did we last wake up to such hard frost?” Well – the  obvious answer is not within living memory….

Now, this isn’t quite true as my sister then went on to say: “Do you remember when?”

The winters of our childhood (well, when we found ourselves in the UK, that is – which wasn’t so often) were always white. And cold. With huge snowdrifts that could gobble you up. And they did!

My dad caught us frolicking in the snow as kids on his cine camera. One moment, I was a be-coated happy figure in hats and gloves, the next I had disappeared from sight. Fallen into the largest snow drift in the garden that, quite literally, covered me from head to foot.

Exit a cold and bawling Lady Fi.

But in recent years, such crisp air and glittering frosts have been sadly lacking: so far and few between that when they do occur, they inspire my sister to rush out with her big camera and get snapping. I’m proud to say that she’s done a great job!

A spider’s web becomes a delicate pearl necklace. An ice-coated leaf a hidden treasure glinting in the sun.

Her kids finally get to experience some of the magic of a white winter. Long walks, apple cheeks, bundled up in warm clothes, hot steaming drinks that thaw out cold fingers and toes.

My sister and I so vividly remember school holidays with friends (the boys). Toboganning down steep slopes at hair-raising speeds (not a helmet in sight!), sometimes using our heads as brakes at the bottom of the hill on the hard iron fence. (Yes – it hurt. Thanks for asking. And yes, it does explain quite a bit about me!)

Once, I used my behind as a brake, merrily tearing holes in my trousers and legs. Another time, we hit a huge bump camouflaged as snow. My friend and I were shot up into the air and flung out onto the snow like stranded snowfish, while the old-fashioned wooden sled came crashing down and broke into many pieces. (That was the end of poor Rosebud.)

Oh – those were the good cold days! But imagine waking up to this glorious sight as they did in England yesterday.

The good cold days are back!

(All photos taken by my sister. N-ice one, sis! Oh – and I promise you some donkey poo stories soon…)