Friday, 13 November 2015
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Cardiff had been crippled by snow for three days. I know Britain normally grinds to a halt with just a light sprinkling but to be fair, this had been a real deep freeze, with drifts and icicles and everything. Life had quite simply stopped. But now with the warmer temperatures and the beginning of the thaw people were starting to venture out, test the roads and head back to normality.
Blod had been boasting that this was nothing, that it always snowed on her mountain farm and us city dwellers were wimps. But to be totally honest, in Blod's eyes whatever us city dwellers did were we wimps.
Anyway with the snow melting and the skies blue, the six of us set off for a walk. Well, we called it a walk but it was just a half-hearted potter around Cooper’s Field before heading to Barker’s Tea Rooms for a Hot Chocolate. What was better than a hot chocolate after an icy stroll? Blod led the way of course, sure-footed like a mountain goat, while the rest of us were slip-sliding around like newly born calves.
“C’mon,’ Blod said, ‘it’s not that bad.”
She was right it wasn’t that bad, but we were just hanging back because we were sick of the sound of Blod. After a quick snowball fight, we called it quits and headed for the café. We crossed the road by the Angel Hotel and walked along Castle Street. Just as we reached Dempsey’s, Blod, who was still 3 metres in front of us, let out an almighty scream. Do you remember those toys with an animal on a base and when you pressed the base the animal would collapse? Push puppets I think they were called. Well, it was as if someone had pressed Blod’s base. Her legs went and she crumpled in a heap on the icy pavement.
“Stop pissing around Blod,” Carwyn said. But Blod didn’t answer, instead she let out a slight groan as the last breath left her body. And that’s the problem with those country bumpkins, they might be used to the snow underfoot, but icicles falling from the tall buildings in Cardiff can be deadly.