Well, the Beast from the East came, met Emma, and dumped snow all over the country.
Call it Snowmageddon, or Sneachtageddon if you prefer.
Either way, the country is looking extremely wintry even though Spring is just around the corner.
Which of course brings James Joyce’s ‘The Dead’ to mind, and seeing as it’s Reading Ireland Month:
Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, further westwards, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling too upon every part of the lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.