If you're anything like me, you're probably sick of the very word "snow", let alone the grotty, dirty, treacherous stuff, and thankful for the thaw. For the first time in a couple of weeks, we were able to take the bikes out for a leisurely ride along the Water of Leith path, heading for the charity shops and tea rooms of Stockbridge.
It was a bit muddy, but perfectly fine, until we hit this, just on the other side of the tunnel near the Broughton Tesco:
A giant puddle of floating ice. I tried to plough through it, to no avail. Resigned, I unmounted, patent-leather shoes submerged in icy water, and pushed until I was back on firm ground, squelchy but unscathed.
This is quickly becoming my least favourite spot on the path. It regularly floods, I've been shouted out by a granny who jumped out onto my path, and dogs lurk menacingly round the blind corner. Now this. Curse you, snow. Even in your last throes, your torment me.