Well, the snow arrived in Jersey, after a fashion. Not the shedloads of it that has ground the rest of Britain to a standstill, but it has caused problems nevertheless. Waking this morning (Sun) to see the beach outside my window totally white with more flakes falling I eagerly got ready for running. I remembered a really good run on a snowy Dublin day 22 months ago – it was not to be repeated. Stepping outside it was clear that, here on the south coast anyway, a thaw was already under way. Instead of firm snow I found inches of slush and water. The roadway was easier but of course I had to hop off it for the streams of cars that found their journey ‘absolutely necessary.’ Where the feck was everybody going that was so important early on a Sunday morning? Even the thickest of the population must have guessed that the Sunday papers wouldn’t have arrived. Oh of course, the pint of milk and packet of fags must be got, or the kiddies must be driven about to see the snow. Never mind the risk to life and limb and the dozens of minor accidents that have occured since the cold weather kicked in.
I suppose for once I ought not to suppose that Jersey drivers are more stupid than those of other countries. There are endless reports this weekend of cars and lorries being stranded, stuck on hills, abandoned. It’s not as if there were no warnings. It’s not as if the sky was blue and the roads clear when they set out. No, people set off on missions that simply can’t be postponed in the hope and expectation that it won’t be too bad after all. And burst into tears when it all goes wrong.
So anyway, I had my trusty though heavy trail shoes on and splashed up the Inner Road to St Clement’s Church. I’d normally have continued onwards on a weekend morning but it was no fun, and I was feeling yesterday’s hill climb in my legs as well. So it was down Jambart Lane to the Coast Road and a slog back home through the slush for a rubbish 4.4 miles. The consolation as always after a rubbish run is that at least I ‘got it done.’
And now to end with the saddest of stories. No one should die at 14, especially a few days before Christmas. One minute some kids are having fun on a homemade sled on Cork City’s southside where I’m often to be found when I’m over that way. The next minute young Aoife Downey has been wiped out by a tree and her family have lost a daughter and sister. It just ought not to happen.
Miles on the week – 22.9
Miles ytd – 1,313.7