The Icy and Treacherous 'duff

When I first started telling people I had bought a flat in Carryduff I had some mixed responses. A number of elderly men raised their eyebrows knowingly and said something along the lines of, 'Ah...Carryduff: The Snow Belt of The North' , as if each word should be capitalised and italicised like a well-known movie sequel title. They were subtler, however, in their disapproval than the Bangor-born boiler man making an exception to check out my boiler here in Carryduff who greeted me with the words, 'So what on earth possessed you to move to this s*%t hole then?'

Having lived here for about two and half years, I have to say the most defining aspect of this place (not sure how to define it geographically...village? dormitory town? random collection of houses and amenities at the side of the road to Belfast?) has not been its snowiness, which has only occurred twice since I moved here. There are actually a lot of really great things in Carryduff. The new bar and bistro, Eight South, and Woodlawn Garden Centre, which I only discovered after over a year here, that sells all sorts of treasures like Pilgrim jewellery, Crabtree and Evelyn cosmetics, and so much more. It also has a great cafe. And did I mention that the local SuperValu actually sells entire Cash and Carry sized boxes of Beef Space Raiders, a wonder it is hard to come across anywhere else. (Pickled Onion seems to have the monopoly elsewhere). It's been an enormous feat of self control not to give in to purchasing several boxes thus far. Also, I am very fond of my hairdresser here and refuse to be deterred by the fact that I have been the sole customer on the premises on most of the occasions I've been there. The twice weekly aerobics session, Thai and Tone, at the local leisure centre, draws quite the crowd, with the enthusaistic instructor telling us she wants to be able to identify her attendees from the back at any time in Carryduff by their pert behinds! Motivation indeed. What's more, a friend who moved from Carryduff to Glengormley even makes the journey back to attend at least once a week, probably passing double figures of other perfectly adequate pert-butt-making leisure facilities on her way here. So although very much a stubbornly snobby Bangor girl at heart, and although I miss the sea, I have to concede this place is not really that much of a s8%t hole. (as long as I get home to Bangor: Northern Ireland's Premier Marine Resort at least one time every weekend, of course!)

Back to the topic of snow, it was most frustrating yesterday to be stuck, with a full bladder, might I add, for two hours on the road between Carryduff and Lisburn (I can just see those elderly gentlemen nodding sagely abbout their prior knowledge of the 'snow belt' infamy) and to arrive in completely snow-free Portadown one minute before my class, having missed a vital 2 hours of preparation and admin time. I blustered, unprepared, into my classroom, blaming my delay and lack of preparation on 'The Snow'. My placid students nodded politely, but I could see their eyes straying to the window, where there was just a slight fall of rain drizzling down, and I knew they were thinking 'Eh???' (or whatever the various translations of 'eh' would be in the 8 different language groups represented) but they graciously settled down to undertaking the activity I set them while I left the room to frantically run around and do my photocopying. I had also been tempted to cancel my evening class but knew that would seem ridiculous in the still completely snowless Portadown. It was, as feared, a dangerous return to the 'duff, which still lay as white and unspoilt (although now treacherous and icy) as earlier that morning. It was quite strange to be almost the only employee from my workplace experiencing a snow day, and as I struggled not to skid back along my ice rink of a driveway, it did take a lot of restraint not the momentarily slur the good name of The Snow Belt of the North as quite the s8%t hole after all.