And The God of BBC Weather said unto the Lords of Small Councils - Go forth my sons, and grit thy roads for the white stuff cometh, and without the holy grit thy cars will slippy-slidey on the highways and by-ways.
The Lords of the Small Councils had ignored their God in times past and had suffered greatly with the slippy-slidey cars. They had learned a great lesson, which had come in the form of many letters of the email kind from the common people of the land. The common people rose up as a great force and spoke as one.
NO MORE OF THE SLIPPY-SLIDEY ROADS
So on a chosen day the Gods of Small Councils heeded their Lord God of the Holy BBC, and sent the wheeled vehicles into the towns, and grit poured forth.
Keen was their gritting - spraying road, pavement, mother and child, and the odd slow cat. They gritted through the long dark hours with vim and vigour, fire and brimstone and a certain amount of salt and sand.
The Lords of the Small Councils were pleased with their work and patted themselves on their backs. The common people would go to their work, the common children would go to their schools and the common shout of 'you're a bunch of wankers' would not be heard outside the hallowed halls of the Small Council offices.
So, today the roads are full of righteous grit with no sign of one snowflake, or one bit of ice - tis surely a miracle!