Manchester’s had more snow than anyone remembers. We woke to drifts a foot deep in places, and transport that scarcely worked. But there’s no meaningful way to write about snow without cliche — no point, even — not least when so many pictures have already coloured our day. The south’s next. Here’s hoping they have people who’ll smile and push the cars of strangers without being asked.
Dad took this early — it’s a bench back home. Says more than I’ll try to.