Our new community council has been slowly bedding itself in (it’s a bit disconcerting realising I’m now one of the longest serving members) but I was pleased that when I emailed around on Friday to enquire if anyone knew how we should go about getting the village pavements cleared of snow and ice before it froze solid, the response was the setting up of a volunteer squad of snow shovellers within the village* – a development only slightly marred by the fact that the rain had set in before they could get to work and rather unsportingly washed it all away. Still, we stand ready to go out and shovel snow and distribute grit the moment we are needed, which if nothing else should guarantee a mild winter.
I may have inadvertently created a monster, though. Setting out for the paper this lunchtime after a rather rainy morning, I happened across a couple of our neighbours (one of whom is also on the community council) industriously digging out the drains on the road outside our house. Which is great, of course it is, and very public spirited of them, and they have managed to find the second drain into the field which has long since been silted up out of reach of even the most industrious stick poking. But I couldn’t help feeling in the furthest reaches of my soul that those were my drains that they were poking at, and why should they have all the fun?
* this is especially heartening considering that the standard British response to any suggestion that people might want to clear snow off the pavements is to worry that they might get sued