Talking to my mum the other day after a news report about schools closing after 'heavy' snowfall of up to an inch in places, in 'freezing' temperatures, she reminded me of how as small children we used to wait for the school bus in Bulgaria in temperatures of -25C. This venerable contraption was a Citroen van with snow chains on skinny tyres, driven by a garlic-munching psychopath in a Russian hat accompanied by his fur-coated, scarlet-taloned concubine, which carried us 7km up the mountain to school while playing diddly-dum Balkan folk music on the radio. To this day the strains of hits such as 'Eh, Irina, put down your shovel and dance' and 'Martha's lament for her missing goose' never fail to bring a sentimental tear to my eye.
