F**cking Great Drifts of Snow

I am not completely satisfied with some of my previous missives...Crutch Twirling Psychopath being the exception. The snow may be affecting my brain somewhat...however exciting events are afoot. Ocean has decided to brave the lane, mainly due to the fact that we have 'fucking great drifts of snow'...I am not joking...she is making her way down the hill right now and has sent us some pictures of what she is trying to negotiate...

 

This is not good for a crippled father's nerves, Helen has set out with Henry to meet her...what good a six inch high dog is going to be in 7 foot drifts of snow I don't know. So now I have lost contact with both of them. There is no phone signal in the lane and Ocean is now out of range.  All I can do is lie here fretting slightly.

I am no longer fretting, I have contacted daughter number one and she is safe in the company of her mother and a small shivering fifteen year old West Highland White terrier...no doubt he is wondering what the fuck is going on and 'can we go home now'

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