I should explain for those of you overseas, we are having a bit of a Dickensian winter spell. I don't mean kids up the chimney, but rather a thick blanket of snow and empty streets. With the exception of the high streets, the snow in London creates a rather enjoyable peace. The traffic is greatly reduced, the snow muffles the sound, and people who are out and about tend to be in cheerful mood.
This idyll usually lasts a couple of days, before white becomes browny-grey, and everyone gets mightily annoyed by the piles of icy black slush that make the pavements lethal and the roads look like drainage ditches.
Against all the odds, I have been getting out ion the snow. We've even built a snowman. It is still fun. I am pleased that I bought a pair of chunky tyres for the beach, as they are coming in handy for the snow, too.
But even with these wheels, it's very heavy going, trying to get around in a wheelchair when there is four inches of snow on the ground. I am also conscious of just how cold my legs and feet get, and with the issues around my diminished circulation (as my leg muscles aren't busily pumping the blood around), I have to make sure that I don't get frostbite.
It's one thing to lose a few toes while conquering the North face of the Eiger, quite another to do so while building a snow man in a front garden in Hackney.
On the plus side, I have been able to point out to concerned passers by that, while pushing a wheelchair in thick snow is very hard, at least I don't have to worry about falling over.
For a fraction of a second I pondered the possibility of going sledging in the park with Rosalie (for any Australian cricket fans, I 'm talking about sliding down hills in the snow, not standing around swearing at people). But the prospect of watching my feet catch in the snow before disappearing under my backside as my hips are dislocated to the horror of everyone else on the hill has rather put me off.
Instead I will spend the afternoon making soup and biscuits. And sending Rosalie out in rags to beg a plum pudding or two. Gawd bless us, one and all!
This idyll usually lasts a couple of days, before white becomes browny-grey, and everyone gets mightily annoyed by the piles of icy black slush that make the pavements lethal and the roads look like drainage ditches.
Against all the odds, I have been getting out ion the snow. We've even built a snowman. It is still fun. I am pleased that I bought a pair of chunky tyres for the beach, as they are coming in handy for the snow, too.
But even with these wheels, it's very heavy going, trying to get around in a wheelchair when there is four inches of snow on the ground. I am also conscious of just how cold my legs and feet get, and with the issues around my diminished circulation (as my leg muscles aren't busily pumping the blood around), I have to make sure that I don't get frostbite.
It's one thing to lose a few toes while conquering the North face of the Eiger, quite another to do so while building a snow man in a front garden in Hackney.
On the plus side, I have been able to point out to concerned passers by that, while pushing a wheelchair in thick snow is very hard, at least I don't have to worry about falling over.
For a fraction of a second I pondered the possibility of going sledging in the park with Rosalie (for any Australian cricket fans, I 'm talking about sliding down hills in the snow, not standing around swearing at people). But the prospect of watching my feet catch in the snow before disappearing under my backside as my hips are dislocated to the horror of everyone else on the hill has rather put me off.
Instead I will spend the afternoon making soup and biscuits. And sending Rosalie out in rags to beg a plum pudding or two. Gawd bless us, one and all!
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