Champagne for Rosie, real pain for Barney

Day 114

Happy Birthday Rosie.

My step-daughter/lovely friend, Rosie, is 'thirty-something' today. She is as beautiful as today is from my window - the snow lawn is twinkling with diamond dust and the sunshine is a deep gold where it hits the trees. There is no wind, everthing is frozen in time as well as space, and a million animal footprints cover the clean, white ground.

Rosie had a rough time last year - she has been unlucky in love, which is always the pits. But there is a new man in her life now and a new spring in her step, so here's to you, darlin', I have a feeling that this will be your year.

Spent a fair whack of time yesterday digging two tracks out of the snow up the hill, so that the car could get out. Didn't really need to, but it made it passable for everyone else who doesn't have a four-wheel drive, although that's not so many round here. Plus, it was a good excuse to muck about in the snow whilst looking worthy.

Am obviously as unfit as I think I am, because I had to take pain-killers to get to sleep - my arms were so unused to that level of exercise. Does this bother me? Not much, actually, I'll deal with the fitness issue when I've got the exhaustion down a bit, or when the sun shines longer, whichever comes first.

I was three when we had the last really cold winter. We were living in a village high up in the quantocks, and we made a slide in the garden out of snow, which got icier, slidier, and faster each day. Brill. We didn't have central heating or any of that nonsense, and the ice patterns on the windows each morning were wondrous. I still believed in Santa Claus and the tooth fairy, and now Jack Frost entered my world.

I remember having very cold hands all the time because gloves were always of the knitted variety, which became sodden and icy after only the third snowball. Wellies were padded out with two pairs of socks, which was never enough insulation, and scarves got in the way and so were often discarded. We would stay out long after our hands turned bright red and totally numb, only defrosting them in warm water when they had started to reach that interesting purple stage.

These days I am a total wimp. I don't like getting cold, it uses up my energy too quickly. But whether I get to make one or not, unless we get enough snow for a decent snowman, it doesn't feel like a proper winter to me. Last year we only had enough for me to make one for the squirrels, (who are fine and dandy, by the way, I saw two of them shagging in the maple yesterday). This winter is shaping up nicely.

The cat doesn't rate the snow, so she is leaving all the super-exposed, un-camouflaged prey to Barney, the cat next door, who is known as 'The Holy Terror' in these parts. He is the reason my Guinea Pigs do not get to roam in the garden unattended. I can see his prints all over the garden. However, he is jet black, and I am hoping this has slowed the success of his blood-lust down a smidge.

I tried to get a fire going yesterday, but the chimney smoked us all out of the room. At one point Steve had to open windows to stop our eyes streaming, so I shan't bother today as it rather defeated the object of the exercise. Will just enjoy it and wrap up in lots of blankets instead.