Power mad

When I was a child, my parents took me on plenty of exciting holidays. Bythe time I was 13 I'd been to Rhodes, Majorica, Minorca, Corfu, Portugal, Morocco, to Disney World twice, and all over the USA. Very exciting indeed. Lucky, spoiled Laura.

But, more clearly than any of these culturally-enhancing and - no doubt - expensive holidays, I remember December 8, 1990 far more clearly than any family trip.

It was the day the snow came. And not just the snow, the Great Power Cut of 1990. Yes, yes, yes, London has been "at a standstill" for the last couple of days, but this was proper, proper snow.

Let's set the scene. I was eleven years old, and my brother was not quite five. It was a Saturday morning and I was as excited as it was possible for an eleven year-old to be. Not only was there a good foot of snow, but Going Live was presenting a special 3D TV programme that morning. I had bought some red and green 3D glasses from Sainsbury's especially. I have a feeling Jack had some too, otherwise we would have been on course for bloodshed.

Sarah Greene and Philip Schofield came on TV. They said, "Put your 3Dglasses on now". I did. I'd actually been wearing them for the best part of an hour, just in case I missed anything or in case it made normal TV 3D. It didn't - just made it a bit greener and redder. Finally, finally Sarah Greene sat on a swing and prepared to project herself right out into myliving room... then CLICK. The TV turned itself off. I knew the technology was too good to be true. I tried to turn the TV on again - no joy. Power cut. Great.

Luckily Mr and Mrs Nunn had a Plan B. It was the Christmas Fayre of my primary school. The school spelled "Fayre" with a "y" not to be olde worlde and charming but because the level of illiteracy in Loughborough is outstanding. With the snow over a foot deep, driving was out of the question, besides which, it was only a ten-minute walk.

Wellington boots were put on and immediately sprung a leak or were two sizes too small since the last time they were worn. Off to Booth Wood Primary School we trudged. Little Jack, not much taller than the snow, and each step equivalent to ascending a staircase, started to whinge that he was cold.

We finally reached the school, to be greeted by a notice: "Fayre cancelled due to snow". Yes, I know. It should have read, "owing to snow", but I've already told you about Loughburians' illiteracy.

Jack started crying, and I, with my cramped toes and soggy feet took over the whingeing role. I asked if we could take a bus home. There were, unsurprisingly, no buses. Mr and Mrs Nunn kept us walking on the promise of a mug of hot chocolate when we got home and choosing a film we wanted to watch. We finally made it home. There was still no electricity. The film was cancelled. The hot chocolate was made in a saucepan on the gas hob.

Four hours later, the electricity still wasn't on. We went sledging with the family next door. Well, everyone else went sledging, and I stood at the top of the hill, crying because I was too scared to shoot down the hill on a little plastic tray and too cold to move my fingers. And my wellies were still too small and still leaked.

Three hours later, still no electricity. We had a gas fire in the living room, and a gas cooker, but no central heating. Next door were in an even worse position. They didn't even have a gas cooker. So, they came over for dinner, which we ate at about 5 p.m. by candlelight. It was like a party.

At 8 p.m. with still no electricity, next door went back home and it was bedtime. We couldn't see a thing. And with no central heating and a foot of snow outside, it was cold in the house. We all slept in the same bed to keep warm... until 3 a.m. when Jack decided his meaningful contribution to the emergency would be to vomit profusely all over the bed. With no hot water to clean up, I decided that I'd brave the cold in my own room.

The power cut lasted an amazing two nights and three days. Every day next door's kids would come and play board games at our house - hours and hours of them. And every evening their parents would come over for a warm meal and we'd play charades by candlelight. We listened to a battery-operated radio which seemed to play "Ice Ice Baby" constantly and told us reassuringly that school was cancelled. We put up the Christmas tree. Mr and Mrs Nunn decanted the contents of the freezer into the snow in the garden to keep it cold.

On the evening of the 10th December, a day before Jack's fifth birthday,the Christmas tree lights suddenly came on. The TV sprung to life, with a BBC Narnia adventure and the streetlights lit up.

I'm one of those people who's always, always cold, but other than the times we were outside, I don't actually remember being freezing for those days. I remember the board games, and the charades and accidentally spreading fish pate on my hand because I couldn't see it wasn't a piece of toast. It was brilliant. And apologies to Mr and Mrs Nunn because all those expensive holidays and the thing I remember most is when the power went off.

That and the caravan holiday when Jack got listeria and the doctor shoved a suppository up his bottom.