Not only the flashy red jacket designed for those scaling Langdale Pikes or striding Striding Edge, but also a scarf and the waterproof over trousers, never before worn in Epsom. I drew the line at the hard core gloves, settling for my regular woollies. And as it turned out, despite some rain in the air, despite the fierce east wind coming down East Street, hood up was too much, with the head and face overheating.
I learned from a young mother that all the schools in Epsom had closed down. Clearly not made of the same stuff as we were, back in the late fifties, cycling through the heavy snow on our tricycles to get to the village school.
On the other hand, I learned from a young dustman that they had not missed a shift. They had kept going. Plus there were no diversions to gritting duties, the staff for which much be drawn from some other pool. And there was still some gritting going on with quad bikes pulling little orange trailers and doing the principal pavements.
Pavements generally were OK, with my only coming near a tumble when crossing Manor Green Road. This provided insight into the workings of reflexes, as when I started to go over, the right hand holding the walking stick shot out horizontally to provide some balance, while the left hand stayed put because the left elbow was by then pressing the Guardian into my chest and the bit of brain minding the newspaper declined requests from the bit of brain minding the balance to release the left arm to shoot out horizontally. As it happened, one arm was enough to stop the tumble. But the experience does suggest that my thoughts about drinking from water bottles with the left hand while continuing to drive with the right have been wrong, in that I had thought that in an emergency one would drop the water bottle and get back to proper driving, no harm done apart from probably getting wet. Ditto fiddling with sweets. Rethink needed.
In our own road, the pavements in front of just two houses had been swept properly, one of which was ours and the other of which belonged to someone who had recently retired. Quite a few had been swept improperly, leaving frozen footprints, perhaps worse than doing nothing at all. In our case, the frozen footprints, which are hard to sweep off, even with a yard broom, were finished off with salt. All to be done again later this afternoon, if it stops snowing before it gets dark.
Jacket zip half way down and gloves off by the time I got home. Maybe we are past the worst of it.
Testing
Having some trouble with blogger logout. So this section reserved for a few more tests.
First logout attempt 12:26. Blogger edit screen clears, then reappears. Attempt to do some editing to be told on a little white popup that someone else had logged out from some other location.
Second logout attempt 12:29. Blogger edit screen clears, then reappears. Try again. Same thing plus the little white popup. Use the favourites button to get back to the blogger login screen. Login OK.
Third logout attempt 12:33. Blogger edit screen clears, then reappears. Try opening gmail from another tab, which would not usually require the password in the case that blogger was open. Gmail wants the password.
So at least two bits of the google world know that I have logged out. But the bit that it supposed to load the blogger re-entry screen after logout doesn't. And at some point the sign in/sign out display top right on the blog itself fell into error. Couldn't keep up.
Next step: read the stuff about cookies and filters helpfully provided in answer to my query on a help forum yesterday.
Step after that: start to work on the irritating way fonts have started to come and go.
Reference 1: https://dphotographer.co.uk/. With thanks for the use of their picture of Striding Edge, in better weather than we are having here in Epsom.
Reference 2: http://blogging.nitecruzr.net/. The source of the helpful answer.
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