Screw snow, it’s for Christmas cards only as far as I’m concerned.
Sometime circa mid seventies, I was returning from Whitehaven, (I think that it was either still Cumberland then, or had just become Cumbria), driving an empty articulated oil tanker, somewhere near Carnforth, or Lancaster at a guess, when the traffic came to a halt in driving snow, so many cars had been abandoned, that trucks willing to go on, couldn’t get through.
I was directed to walk across some fields by a copper, and fetched up in a Police Station somewhere, where I and 15-20 other truck drivers slept on the floor.
Next day I trudged back to my truck, but the diesel in the fuel lines had frozen, and it wouldn’t start.
A cop called a local truck repair place, and I had to wait freezing hours for assistance.
The mechanic had to hold burning paper to the fuel lines to get the diesel melted, and when the engine fired up, the exhaust belched thick smoke for maybe 5 minutes.
The heater took miles and miles to kick in, but was I happy when it did!