Cabin fever

imageMoving to a rural Idyll from London, life was pretty easy that is until it snowed. I’ve never understood the concept of cabin fever until last month. After days of being snowed in with one husband, two children and a goldfish I suddenly got it.

One morning, I looked out of my frosty kitchen window and, clear as day, I saw a penguin, just a small one, but it was definitely a penguin. I was about to call my daughter to see it, when I had a reality check. I remembered I didn’t live in an igloo, but a semi-detached house, in  an area not renowned for its arctic wildlife. What I actually saw was a black and white cat playing in the snow. To me, it was a penguin, to my husband it was a cat and I was officially mad. This was my first taste of cabin fever.

The first few flakes of snow were exciting. When it settled, Lucy ran out in her wellies and squealed with delight as she left her tiny footprints in the pristine snow. But then we were house-bound, had a power cut, no TV, the cupboards were bear and the novelty of the white stuff was wearing off.

Having made a whole snowman family plus dog, exhausted our craft draws, watched several DVDs and baked enough fairy cakes to sink a battleship I was running out of ideas.

So, Lucy and I embarked on an expedition to the corner shop. Dressed with four layers, waterproofs, boots and a bright red sledge we were ready – all that was missing were the huskies. After braving the snow, we were dismayed to find the shop had sold out of all bread, eggs and milk. We settled for a giant bar of chocolate and a tin of soup.

It was great when the snow melted, my husband returned to work, pre-school re-opened and we went shopping, walking and living without falling over. Life went back to normal – without the penguins!

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