I suppose if you’d really searched for one concession to the conditions, it would have been the engine heater. The 10pm flight from a chilly Stockholm to a truly (literally) Arctic Kiruna passed without incident, delay, drama. We stepped off the plane sometime after midnight, walked out to the car hire park, disconnected the heater, and drove through a frozen landscape, snow piled a metre or so high on the side of the road, at minus 15 degrees, to our hotel, deep into Swedish Lappland. At no point in our journey, or at any time during our week in the tundra, did the wholly predictable presence of frozen water slow us, or any one else, down.

 

Winter has, with entirely equal predictability, now come to the UK; a Northern set of islands at the fringe of continental Europe, in January, and again, tediously, frustratingly, pathetically, has rendered the country immobile, panic-stricken and helpless.

 

Every year it happens. Every year, somebody makes a point similar to this, and every year, howls of anguished excuses pour forth, led usually by the claim that “we’re just not used to it”, or “these are exceptional conditions”. An averagely intelligent six year old could probably shoot a hole right through that logic, but in the absence of such a child to whom we can immediately turn, allow me: if it happens every year, it can’t reasonably be described as exceptional. In Britain, despite our sub-arctic location and Northern hemisphere Ice Age past, we’re simply rubbish at dealing with winter.

 

Maybe it’s some kind of collective denial about the latitude at which we sit, wishful thinking on the part of sun lovers that somehow we don’t live in a part of the world where snow will fall every year at this time. Seriously. Get a map. What’s that big lump of land just to the right of us? It’s Scandinavia. Up and left a bit? Iceland. The big wet thing to the left? Not the Med, or the Adriatic, but the North Atlantic. On the BBC News Channel a few days ago, the shiny-faced mannequin of a host turned to his meteorological colleague and asked "What's happening then? Seems like we're getting snow year in year out?". For him not to respond by incredulously walking out of the studio while simply shouting “It’s winter, you cretin”, must have taken the kind of superhuman restraint of which I’m just not capable.

 

So that we’re clear on the terminology though, let’s just take a second to decode a few phrases from the recent press.

 

“Arctic Blast To Hit UK!”, means “winter”.

 

“The Big Freeze!”, means “winter”.

 

“Sub-zero Snow Chaos!”, means, well, you get the picture (postcard view).

 

Just two years ago, Heathrow Airport spent the best part of two lottery rollovers on measures designed to ensure that the chaos and farce into which that airport was plunged by six flakes of snow, in winter, wouldn’t be repeated. This week, as once again the airport bosses apologise to stranded, exhausted passengers trying to sleep on the floor of their departure lounges, it’s really rather hard to sensibly imagine what those millions went on.

 

Here in the north of the country, we’re no better. A smug, chauvinistic giggle at those in England who can’t cope as the frigid precipitation starts to falls, inevitably gives way within days to the realisation that we can’t either. Phrases such as “treacherous”, “unless absolutely necessary” and “blankets, shovel and fully charged mobile phone” fill the gaps in our increasingly hysterical media, rather than calls for the authorities to ensure that major, vital trunk roads and motorways are kept consistently and properly clear.

 

So maybe it’s up to us now. Perhaps we should do our bit to help remind road chiefs, airport bosses and others that winter happens every year. Some gentle nudges might do it; possibly an e-mailed JPEG or two in October of a pretty snow-covered landscape, captioned with a cheery “not long now!” and a smiley face. Or maybe an annual message to those involved in buying salt and grit for the roads, that they could solve all of their season’s future supply problems by simply buying twice as much of the stuff as they persist in believing is necessary. (I’m far from a scientist, but I don’t think salt has a best-before date.)

 

Or maybe what’s needed is a fact-finding mission, so beloved of elected officials right across the land? I’d suggest a trip to Kiruna, to see how those guys manage it. It’s a beautiful place, with much to teach. Honestly, Team Transport, you’d love it. It’s a great time to go too, and I’d recommend this idea unhesitatingly - assuming a clear road to a functioning UK airport can be found. Bring me back an ice cream.