The Colour of Invasion.

The Siberian invader seems to have passed on its way now. Maybe it’s ravaging Ireland at this moment, or maybe it’s on its way to New England. I don’t care as long as it doesn’t come back here.

In its wake we have filth. We have mud; we have pools of muddy water; we have brown skating rinks of slurry on the road because, for some reason best known to their unconventional minds, the farmers were out muck spreading until after dark during the worst of the storm. Unsurprisingly in the circumstances, the remnants of the snow drifts on the verges and against the hedgerows are also brown. Brown snow is not an endearing sight.

And I noticed something odd about the snow drifts which I’ve never noticed about snow drifts before. The backbone of the Siberian storm was a strong easterly wind, and yet the drifts have built up on the west side of the hedges. I suppose it must have something to do with flow patterns.

I watched an Open University TV lecture on flow patterns once and found it surprisingly interesting. Whoever would have thought that a bear of such little brain could find a university lecture on flow patterns entertaining? Unfortunately I don’t remember any details. If I did, the wake of the storm might have proved an interesting object of study instead of a brown mess to be stepped over carefully.