I accept that there are many people who regard snow as the most wondrous substance but, frankly, they must be folk without responsibilities and/or a propensity to trip over their own shadow.
I watched the snow descending in its traditional and menacing silence and heaved a sigh of resignation. (As Scrooge is to Christmas, so I am to snow.) Within hours the whole world appeared blanketed in a white fluffy layer. It twinkled by lamplight and seemed to charm everyone into cries of delight and cheerfulness – except me. Numerous friends attempted, as usual, to highlight the wonders of the snowy scene. As usual, their cheeriness dissipated long before the slushy grey snowflakes and black ice dissolved into thin air.
In the meantime; cars froze, cars crashed, schools closed, folk shivered and discovered that chilblains are a consequence of the romantic vision of snowman building and snowball throwing. Boilers broke, walkers fell and starter motors ground to a halt.
The silver lining in my snow cloud was the installation of the wood burning stove during the previous week. Tucked up, warmly, in the dining room, whilst I watched the blanket descend, I almost (only almost, mind you) welcomed the drop in temperature.
Now, as I peer out and spot the green fingers of bulbs emerging, come what may, I remind myself that it will soon be time to dust down the barbecue and this will be but a distant memory.
