To us British, the depths of a midwest American winter is something of an alien experience. We just don't get that sort of weather here,, with our milder atlantic climate, or at least not usually. The winters of 1961 and 1947 are exceptions of course, savage reminders that nature hasn't forgotten us.

on the other hand, the glorious photographs of winter in railroad magazines are well known to me. Whilst I haven't experienced that sort of climate for real, I have become familiar with that monochrome wilderness and the extraordinary coating of frozen moisture it leaves as a calling card.

Except... For the first time I witnessed a modest version in Swindon today. As I trudged through the thick frost on the darkening sky of the early evening, with that sharp relentless chill, watching the last crimson embers on the cirrus clouds against a yellow horizon, I became aware that here, here in Swindon of all places, successive frosts were building a similar vision of winter right under my nose. Beautiful. Cold, but beautiful.

Talk of the Devil

As we sat out the tea break and made frequent if shortlived attempts to make conversation as we briefly defrosted from our session in the unheated warehouse out back, the subject got around to women. It usually does with gatherings of men. We do like to relate anecdotes of sexual conquest both real and imagined, but in fairness, this was a more honest sort of exchange in which our human failings provided the laughs.

The subject matter began inexorably to focus on the woman who runs the training site. Normally she's busy, businesslike, and as we all noticed, one senses a certain threat of a poison sting lurking under that friendly if somewhat guarded manner of hers. No sooner had we discussed her merits as an object of conquest, the gossip concerning things we shouldn't know about, and our league table of probability, she turned up in her car. There you go, talk of the devil...

I think she was impressed by our friendly smiles and warm conviviality. She might not be if she knew what we were thinking. Or then again, perhaps she knew full well what was going on as she's a mature lady with long experience of working class males. At any rate, she was kind enough to provide funding for a replacement heater or two for the warehouse, now that the gas burning jet engine in one corner has finally surrendered to the onslaught of winter and lack of fuel.

Never hurts to smile, does it?