Well, there will be many, many people blogging the snow, so instead, I shall blog my route to the studio. Put on knee-high boots, stuff jeans inside. Put on extra jumper & coat. Nab torch & keys. Open back door, eye knee-high snow about to fall into the kitchen with suspicion. Gently tread it down towards the outside, avoid kitchen flooding. Take one last look at warm, cosy house, sigh with regret. Step outside and firmly shut door behind. Narrowly avoid saying 'I might be some time'. Realise snow is so deep that wading through it means it comes over knee-high boots. Stupidly decide that it'll be less wet if I do it quickly, so start thrashing through the snow like a frolicking pony. Realise this is quite fun, and do a few sideways jumps & kicks for the heck of it. Just in time, spot the ilex spiky bush, so laden down with snow that it is now shoulder height. Decide whether it would be better to get thrashing from bush, or to stoop low enough to avoid it, crouching into the snow. Give a contortionist a run for their money and do an oscar-worthy limbo...realise coat was trailing in the snow. Open studio door and turn on light. Bring in two cubic metres of snow when I realise I didn't do the 'tamping down' bit before opening the door. Wonder how it could have snowed horizontally against the window...everything covered in snow. Realise clothes & shoes are soaking wet. Turn on ventilation and heater and break into hysterical laughter at the futile struggle of industrial strength ventilation (huge draft) vs. tiny heater. Settle down for two hours of torching.
Come back inside. Realise it's been a while since I've felt my toes. Sit in front of open fire, feet an inch away from the flame. Watch steam rise, and realise I can't feel a thing. Contemplate inching closer, stopped only by 'the look' from hubby. Be overwhelmed with love when hubby comes with a bowl of warm water. Strip socks of, gently lower feet in. Twenty minutes after coming inside, watch with strangely detached interest how all toes have turned pink, apart from one. Idly wonder whether it would be possible to lose a toe when beading. Realise I'm actually quite attached to all my toes. Starting to worry. Watch toe very, very closely, decide there might be a tiny hue of pink. Praise the kiln fairies and wonder whether I'd do it all over again tomorrow. Realise that I will.