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"...day 243 of winter 2014, Friday
9am: During a brief burst of power I manage to read on the internet that London Zoo have run out of penguins to feed their big cats - they are asking for volunteers, the unemployed etc.
11am: Carstairs found that the huge snowdrift at the end of our village remains untouched - a moment of joy as I get through to the emergency road clearing services. Only to be dashed as I get the automated message again 'your call is important to us, you are... 3472 in the queue, your call will be answered.. Thursday'.
2pm: We boil more snow, powdered soups from the last airdrop running low. Down to oxtail flavour. At least its warming, the crows and rabbits having long since vanished.
I can just make out the arial of my car but that isnt due to a thaw, not with the gales of last night having blown the snow into crazy drifts. It is up to the eves of the houses, all but burying the bungalows and leaving the remaining trees bare of any branches.
Despite the suns position (is it really August?) the air is still frigid, too painful to talk in let alone try to keep the snow tunnels and pathways clear.
I move to the back bedroom and peer out at the bizarre daylight moonscape to where pretty gardens once lay. I close my eyes and try to remember the smell of freshly mown grass. Sadness as the memory triggers sounds of children in the nearby park, noisy young starlings crowding around the parents for food.
I am startled out of my revery by a loud crash - I know what it is; another roof collapsing under the weight of the snow. Was it empty? I look in the direction, straining but unable to hear any screams as it immediately disappears under the all consuming deluge, clouds of ice whipped up and away by the breeze..
I see figures struggling to where the house was, battling against the crazy snow...
Snow! So much of it. We never dreamed of this much back in 2013 and so late in the season. March was where it started, how did it all happen? It was like some cheesy Hollywood blockbuster, but here there were no more helicopters or hope of rescue to some warm climate. Here it was August and the next Winter was already setting in. No one believed the computers. Their software predicting crazy temperatures for the upper atmosphere, governments putting out statement after statement that there was no need to worry... I wonder how many of those model watchers are still around?
8pm The dazzling blue sky is clear of vapour trails, a line of dark clouds all but obscures the setting sun. I try to feel the warmth of the last rays before it disappears, involuntarily shivering at the thought of another cold night to come...''
21/06/2168 Extract #16b taken from an electronic diary found on the Cambridgshire/ Northamptonshire boarders by Lt. Rodriguez, AR&A team (Argentine Rescue & Archaeology)
9am: During a brief burst of power I manage to read on the internet that London Zoo have run out of penguins to feed their big cats - they are asking for volunteers, the unemployed etc.
11am: Carstairs found that the huge snowdrift at the end of our village remains untouched - a moment of joy as I get through to the emergency road clearing services. Only to be dashed as I get the automated message again 'your call is important to us, you are... 3472 in the queue, your call will be answered.. Thursday'.
2pm: We boil more snow, powdered soups from the last airdrop running low. Down to oxtail flavour. At least its warming, the crows and rabbits having long since vanished.
I can just make out the arial of my car but that isnt due to a thaw, not with the gales of last night having blown the snow into crazy drifts. It is up to the eves of the houses, all but burying the bungalows and leaving the remaining trees bare of any branches.
Despite the suns position (is it really August?) the air is still frigid, too painful to talk in let alone try to keep the snow tunnels and pathways clear.
I move to the back bedroom and peer out at the bizarre daylight moonscape to where pretty gardens once lay. I close my eyes and try to remember the smell of freshly mown grass. Sadness as the memory triggers sounds of children in the nearby park, noisy young starlings crowding around the parents for food.
I am startled out of my revery by a loud crash - I know what it is; another roof collapsing under the weight of the snow. Was it empty? I look in the direction, straining but unable to hear any screams as it immediately disappears under the all consuming deluge, clouds of ice whipped up and away by the breeze..
I see figures struggling to where the house was, battling against the crazy snow...
Snow! So much of it. We never dreamed of this much back in 2013 and so late in the season. March was where it started, how did it all happen? It was like some cheesy Hollywood blockbuster, but here there were no more helicopters or hope of rescue to some warm climate. Here it was August and the next Winter was already setting in. No one believed the computers. Their software predicting crazy temperatures for the upper atmosphere, governments putting out statement after statement that there was no need to worry... I wonder how many of those model watchers are still around?
8pm The dazzling blue sky is clear of vapour trails, a line of dark clouds all but obscures the setting sun. I try to feel the warmth of the last rays before it disappears, involuntarily shivering at the thought of another cold night to come...''
21/06/2168 Extract #16b taken from an electronic diary found on the Cambridgshire/ Northamptonshire boarders by Lt. Rodriguez, AR&A team (Argentine Rescue & Archaeology)
