in the bleak mid-winter, snoooow on snow

It's snowing. Quite exciting really. We are in thrilling trench mentality, in batten-down-the-hatches mode, even though the snow storm is more of a little Irish-style Shnow Stormeen in a teacup. I dodged world-saving One Dialysis Patient At A Time today on account of (what we like to think of as) the severe weather conditions. The idea of getting up early and slip-sliding down the road to the fogged-up bus full of sleepy commuters and then walking up the wind-swept plain with the wind coming straight off the mountains was enough to strike laziness terror into my heart. Never mind, we'll make it up to them later in the term.
I feel a lot more cheerful. Phew. And hurray! even.
Spike and co were down to visit on Sunday. Spike is a stickler for precision. And he doesn't seem to buy into the idea that there may well be more than one word for anything. So for instance, sheep are not to be referred to as Sheep, but as lambs, to please His Highness. Call a truck a lorry, and you risk being cut off with a bellowing NO! He reminds me of one of those Evil Kings in fairy tales who cuts off his daughter's suitors' heads at the drop of a hat. Was there one I remember that when he asked the young men to describe  what was wrong with his legs, if they dared to say one was shorter than the other, rather than one is longer than the other, he would summarily behead them? Or was that one of my lurid dreams. (Last night I dreamt I got a resounding round of applause for singing that old Beatles song I want to hold your hand. It was really fun. Maybe I have a secret desire to be a big show-off!)
Spike got over all those word-games in any case and turned out to be in a good mood, with much shrieking and jumping and wrestling. Dazzle is lovely - she can pull herself up to standing now, and is tolerant and as sweet as something really sweet like..eh.. a lump of sugar.
Smokey (Oldest Horse In The World) seemed much better than I expected. He seemed so full of energy and so strong that it was easy to dismiss any idea of this being an appropriate end to his life. He seemed not bothered by the snow, just shying and snorting like a youngster at a plastic bag. (A lot of horses have paranoid delusions about plastic bags. Why, no one knows. They are to horses what surveillance devices are to mental patients).
So all is well, for now. And even with that proviso, for now, I am happy and relieved.