So, I woke up this morning and found the world had gone white overnight. Again.
And my Facebook page (other social networks are available) is full of people celebrating this fact! Wall to wall ‘Wooo!’ and ‘Yaaaay!’ and even a ‘Yee-haaa!’ (although I think I may have to delete that person on the grounds that someone who says ‘Yee-haa’ about anything much less snow is plainly someone who has added me as a friend by mistake).
When you’re a Small Person (by which I mean a child, not a ‘just-a-slimline-tonic-for-me-type person) snow is the dog’s danglies. I remember waking as a child to find this wonderful white blanket everywhere and practically wetting myself with glee. I remember actively enjoying digging paths; I was a Brownie so not only did I clear our own garden path but also that of old Mrs Prewett next door, although I don’t recall putting salt down when I finished so she probably broke her hip on the way to her outside loo afterwards. I also vividly remember sliding down a hill on a bin-liner – and getting to the bottom far faster than Sarah over the road on her posh plastic sledge. So nerrr to you Sarah. I even remember sliding on the surface of the local boating pond, something which if I discovered my child had been doing would give me a serious case of the vapours these days!
But now, I am extremely old and decrepit, not to mention portly, and the idea of falling down in the snow is scary! There’s nothing quite like that feeling of slipping – arms flailing madly, nostrils flaring, peculiar noises coming from your throat over which you have no control – followed by that earth-shaking thud as a size 28 bottom makes contact with the ground.
Nope, staying in. That’s the plan. Tv, hot chocolate, maybe even a fluffy blanket. Sorted.