Frothgar and Me.

And now the good news.

I got up early this morning, intent upon doing something to address the dilemma that the snow has been blanketing me with. First on the list was to have another shot at starting Nigel’s old van.

I think the stars must be in a favourable aspect today, or maybe the gods are in a good mood. It took a lot of plug heating and engine turning, but the battery held. The engine kept turning, and eventually it fired. It fired! Nigel’s old van now has my profound respect. I told him (the van, that is) what a bloody little hero he was and how he deserved a place up there with the heroes of the Norse sagas. I might even tell Nigel that the next time I see him; although Nigel will probably think a Norse saga is a creamed pudding from County Durham, so maybe I’ll leave that bit out. It can be a lifelong secret between me and his old van.

Then began the job of clearing the snow drifts between the garage and the lane while Frothgar’s engine got nice and warm. A couple were walking past with their dogs and suggested I shouldn’t take the short route up the lane because of the slope. They’d been out in their vehicle and decided it was better to take the long way round which eases the climb onto the top road. Nah. That would have been nothing short of an insult to a Norse hero. He and I would take the short route while the wimpy SUVs fretted off in the other direction. And so we did. We made it with nothing worse than a bit of playful sliding. The fact that I was wearing a woolly hat probably helped. I’ll bet Norse heroes wore woolly hats. I expect it’s a bit nippier around the fjords than it is here. In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Norse heroes invented woolly hats. Although I doubt they did the knitting. I digress.

Anyway, Frothgar and I had no trouble making it from there to the town, since the main roads were almost clear of snow. I got my stocks of groceries, scotch and bird seed, and even managed to snaffle the one 20kg sack of coal the town garage had left. That will add about another three days burning to what little coal I have in the shed, and hopefully the coalman will have made it out here to the wilds-where-vehicles-shall-not-pass by then. I suspect the coalman’s wagon isn’t a Norse hero.

And when we got back, it only took three attempts to get Frothgar back up the sharp incline and into the garage. I tell you, when that little van finally goes the way of all sheet metal, the fires of Valhalla will turn the sky crimson.