Keeping warm beats the chill

Satellite pic of the UK-January 6th 2010
10.30pm-Just returned from the beach. Wanting to test out my new walking (non slipping) shoes in the snow and having never visited a snowy sub-zero beach I set out for a bracing walk tonight after the kids went to bed. A snow covered seaside town is a strange place at night. With no wind and the snow absorbing and echoing the normal sounds of the night, I stomped along the empty streets, enjoying the sound of my boots crunching the snow and ice, I must have looked like a 12 year old marching in the snow. I crossed the Promenade which was still thick with snow, not many cars or pedestrians having driven or paraded along in this weather. I threw a few snowballs onto the frozen lake, not able to find anything more substantial to break the ice, must take the boys back tomorrow to investigate how thick the ice is. Well the sand was hard and the sea, as usual here to far to see or hear, I have only ever seen it once come in close enough to walk to. So it was a short visit, but it was the walk there and back that was enjoyable-fresh snow, not a soul in sight.
I stopped off at the pub closest to my home, a very quiet place on a side road, but nice and warm with a large(snow covered) beer garden at the front. After about half an hour as I sat immersed in my book and my beer, an elderly woman popped her head up from the next alcove and asked 'Do you like reading?' She was with her middle aged son who like his mother were smilingly awaiting my answer. I could tell straight away that he was a simple man, now I could be politically correct and say 'he had special needs' or he was 'intellectually challenged' but to be honest simple is the best and least insulting description.
Anyway, I replied that that I did indeed enjoy reading, to which the lady very happily informed me that her husband also enjoyed reading. I took this to mean a possibly dearly missed and departed husband, and not wanting to dwell on such a serious topic with my second sentence replied that there is nothing like a good book and a beer in this weather, knowing that the weather is always a winning topic. The old dear then informed me 'I live at 66 Station rd (the address has been changed to protect the innocent), do you live near here?' I took quick stock of her and her still smiling son, suspicious city dweller that I am, and told her the road I live on, but not the number. I didn't quite feel that we were on a popping in for a cup of tea level of friendliness just yet. Of course I felt guilty not reciprocating this quite obviously innocent openness, but that is a fault of my generation, a fear and suspicion of neighbours.

We then had a conversation about the level of noise at night in the area, and how long I had lived there, and how it compares to other places. The son never said a word throughout, but smiled and nodded friendlily. As I put my head back in my book, I felt a warm glow from the pleasure of spontaneous neighbourly conversation. A little later as they were leaving, the son said goodnight individually to everyone in the pub, including myself. I could see the reaction on the faces of people who obviously didn't know him, like me surprise-suspicion-relief-pleasure. His mother followed him around the pub also saying a few words to people. The whole pub was left feeling brighter and warmer by their 'simple' friendliness.