Here in the southern part of the English Midlands we seem to have a pattern of frost and heavy snow showers, leaving just a light covering barely covering the rabbit-cropped turf of Croft Hill. With just a couple of inches more of the white stuff, this would be a much busier scene, the slope bustling with children of all ages from grandchildren to grandparents, sliding down the hill on sledges, or hauling them back to the top of the slope for the return trip. It is a popular location, with cars parked in the verges in all directions, and the Hill left littered with the detritus of broken sledges and abandoned scarves. It’s probably selfish of me, but as a local I prefer it like this – peaceful on a cold grey morning.
