Everything is quiet in snowy Maghera Felt
A song by Icelandic pop star Björk has been playing in my head all morning. Oh, it’s so quiet. And the connection to Iceland was all too appropriate.
Snow was falling silently as I failed miserably at my first task of the day: emptying the trash can. Outside, a black wheelie bin was frozen solid. Three cats were standing guard next to her, but she didn’t know what to make of the situation. They weren’t sitting anyway.
This is the first time since the first days of the coronavirus lockdown that the road outside my house has been so empty. There are no school buses driving down the snow-covered roads. There is no school for my youngest son to go to – which is actually not a bad thing considering the circumstances.
My wife, who works at a school, had the day off. She has to make up her number of clients next week because she is unable to work from her home (she is a school counselor). Double her work another day.
It was easy to create a work plan, but nearly impossible to execute. The idea of leaving early for Belfast International Airport to see what kind of disruption the transport strike was causing was quickly foiled. The idea of getting there from the countryside through roads that may or may not have been paved overnight was not very appealing.
The mechanic was supposed to arrive and move my eldest son’s car. That too had to wait, so I drove him to our shared house in Belfast and got him there first thing yesterday morning to his W5 part-time job at his SSE and his Arena. I had to make sure I was there.
Some are still expected to report to work, while others are making their case.
Putting on a big coat and hat and walking 10 minutes into town through deserted lanes is a great way to see if Magherafelt really wakes up or just sleeps all day when the weather coincides with public sector workers and freezes. It was just to make sure.