Ethan swigged from his bottle of Molson Dry and glanced at the front page. “Sure must be bad to close the main roads.”
Snow swirled around outside; temperatures dropped to minus ten.
McGregor, holidaying in Canada, laughed. “Have ye no read the story?”
“Front page. Is there more?”
“Aye, page three. ‘Blizzards hit UK’.”
Ethan turned the page and read. “’Main roads closed as half-inch of snow cripples Cornwall’. They’re kiddin’, right?”
“Naw. Southern Pansies get snow every seven years – no snowploughs. Does it to them every time.”