This is a fictional account of life in a small village. It is just possible that there is a teensy-weensy spark of truth in some of it, but the rest should be taken with whatever is left in the Cheshire salt mines.
What a good job I took this photo earlier of our nearest pub, where the thatch has been beautifully adorned along the top with a contrasting colour/pattern. And also, I suppose, what a good job they finished it before the snow started!
The OH had suggested popping out for a drink after dinner so that he could chat to the landlord about the thatchers - not that we have a thatched roof, you understand, he just likes to know about these things - but since looking out of the window, he has decided that by the time he has wrapped up sufficiently and located his wellies, it will be closing time. He'll just have to wander round tomorrow when at least it should be light enough to see the drifts!