What you must understand is that almost all of the snow - which was a few inches deep earlier in the week - had gone. And it wasn't even particularly cold.
Which was why I was a little taken aback to see a (probably 50-year-old) woman stumble out of her house across the road from us wearing a woolly hat, ear muffs, a huge scarf, a massive coat, leg warmers, big gloves - and begin helping herself down her garden path with the aid of ski poles.
That's right, ski poles.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
The lady looked up and could see I was a little taken aback.
"Go on, say it!" she shouted with a smile.
"Say what?" I replied.
"Ask me where my skis are!" the lady shouted back, as she inched her way down her snow free path.
I stood, fixed to the spot, feeling I could go nowhere until she at least completed the full journey of approximately six whole metres.
But then, just as she reached the end and was thinking about making a left turn - on to the snow free footpath - a car pulled up and the driver rolled down down her window to speak to her.
I held my position.
A few seconds later, the driver got out, took the ski poles off the lady and put them in the boot - whilst the lady herself began the process of squeezing herself and her estimated 27 layers of clothes into the passenger seat.
And when she finally managed it, they drove off together into the distance.
Where they were going, goodness only knows. But I hope it was warm, I hope it was close - and I really hope it wasn't slippy.
