What's this nasty cold white stuff on the ground?

Miss D. and I made it to Brigid's place safely.  On the way up, the divide between snow-free and snow-on-the-ground was pretty sharp, taking place within a matter of a couple of miles.  I thought it must be due to the passage of a tightly-defined snow front, dumping snow up the road but missing down-the-road completely.  However, Miss D. (who spent almost a decade in the Frozen North) tells me it's more an indication of ground temperature.  Be that as it may, the dirty slush on the roads got interesting at times . . . particularly when trying to walk across it in parking lots, in shoes not designed for the purpose!  This former African boy still comes over all weird when confronted by large volumes of water that don't flow anywhere - and no crocodiles, nogal!

We raided a meadery on the way here.  Seven bottles arrived at Brigid's, but one's already dead, and I'm not sure how many will survive to take home with us.  Talking's thirsty work!  Tomorrow afternoon the ladies will return there for a convivial mead-tasting (where I'm sure the exchanges of confidences about their menfolk will worsen as the level of the mead gets lower).

We're all planning to raid a local bookstore, meet another blogger for lunch, and do whatever else takes our fancy.  Miss D. and I will head for home on Sunday after an all-too-brief visit, but even a couple of days with good friends are a lot better than none!

Peter