A Folding Shovel and a Survival Bag

I had an exciting journey to work in the snow on Wednesday. I enjoyed feeling slightly superior as I got into the Skip, which has '4x4' emblazoned on the side. The smile was wiped off my face as, at the first T junction, I applied the brakes and nothing happened. There was an ominous bang as I cruised into the car in front. The driver was very nice about it, and there was no apparent damage. My precious new number plate was hanging by a thread, but a couple of thumps with my fist seemed to do the trick. After sliding around at about 5 miles an hour, brakes juddering at intervals, I got within walking distance of Prefab Towers and skidded on foot into the office. I was 15 minutes late for my first day in a new job. Not a very good start, 'but at least I got there' said a kindly person offering therapy in the lift. That's one of the benefits of being on the ninth floor, you can meet new friends while the lift struggles to achieve escape velocity.

I was reminded of the snowy scenario when I went to get the ironing board out this morning. It caught on something in the bowels of the kitchen cupboard, which turned out to be the handy folding shovel I inherited from my father. It was in a bag that had followed us everywhere throughout my childhood in the boot of the car, and used to also contain tyre chains and a 'survival bag'. It even came on our summer holidays with the sister bag (goodness knows what was in that) making it difficult to fit all the holiday luggage in. Quite often the blue emergency bags would be stored in the passenger footwells which meant a 500 mile trip to Scotland would be made with our chins resting on our knees. My father once described how the 'survival bag' would save our lives if we were stranded in a snow drift. I tried to wear an expression of reassurance, but in truth I think I experienced one or two nightmares at the prospect of being zipped into a fluorescent green rubberised bag with my father while imprisoned in a Toyota Celica on the M1 somewhere near Newport Pagnell.

It all seemed quite far fetched in those days, not so now.