Do you wanna build a snowman?

snow snow snowy snow cold snow

Do you wanna build a snowman? Do you wanna play outside?

Actually no. I don’t. Thank you.

Britain is in the grip of an arctic front, and snow will be all over your boing, to quote Craig David. It’s gonna be everywhere, and if you read the Daily Express, it’s gonna be all over everywhere for the next forever.

The Daily Express. The only thing to knock bashing foreigners, Brexit, or rumours about Princess Diana’s death from its front page is the forecast of Britain in freezing conditions, and a report on how heavy snow and blizzards will SMASH Britain. That’s a direct quote by the way.

Do I want to build a snowman? Do I want to go outside?

As I get older I think of snow, less as plumped up pillows, fluffy flurries snugly covering trees and fields like a white quilt, and more as a massive pain in the rectum, an inconvenience. Does this make me a miserable old git?

Actually, don’t answer that.

Thing is, roads get closed and driving becomes a ballache, especially where we live as I’ll explain duly. Also, schools get closed, which might be fun for kids, but people still have jobs and offices to go to. The term “snow day” is as welcome to any parents as the phrase “head lice epidemic.” If the school’s closed for a bloody snow day you need to sort childcare, while you pull on any form of footware which might work in the snow and stop you falling down the stairs as you attempt to clear the cold white rubbish off your car and prevent icicles from forming on your face. Or you have to take a day’s holiday to look after the excitable little gits, which isn’t always possible if you’ve got four hearts to operate on in theatre that morning and Jeff has gone to Australia for three weeks. Again.

Apparently the army is gonna help this time. Are we at war? YES. Well I am. I’m at war against SNOW.

A couple of years back it snowed like an utter bastard. We live on a hill and such was the snow and compacted snow, which then became icy as it was damn DAMN cold, the car couldn’t make it up the road. I remember this as I’d just seen an out of hours emergency doctor at the hospital, and been diagnosed with a chest infection, my first ever, and the car wouldn’t get up the hill without help. So I had to push a ton of metal uphill (Did I mention it was UPHILL?)  pausing only to cough up blood and shout “Can’t we just leave it here?”

Snow. I hate it.

Many years ago it snowed unexpectedly in London. In the middle of the afternoon. I was in a pub when I heard the news about half mile long queues for taxis, as buses couldn’t get anywhere, and stories of people walking miles to get home as some tube lines, those which venture overground from underground, couldn’t move. I was laughing as I ordered another pint. I was smug in the snug, and only left when things had calmed down a little. About 11 ish. Prior to that everyone was apparently panic buying bread and milk as if the end of days had come. Okay, after a few pints walking home took me longer than usual, but in my inebriated state, falling over in the snow didn’t hurt my pert little behind so much.

I didn’t hate snow then. But that was because I WAS DRUNK.

Kids love snow. The bastards. And passing a group of teenagers is a nightmare, as you know you’ll get pelted. When I was at primary school a snowball fight took place before registration and a girl got taken to hospital as someone threw a snowball containing ice at her face, which ripped her head open. South London. That’s how we roll. But it’s not cool kids. Well, actually it is. It’s ice.

Snow. Groups of teenagers will pelt your windows with snowballs, which sound like a bomb’s just gone off outside.

Snow. Old people will fall over and end up in A&E when they go out for a pint of milk and five boxes of man-sized tissues (What do they DO with those?).

Snow. I BLOODY hate it. To be honest, the best Snow was the one who did that song ‘Informer’ back in the day, and even he was shit. Leaky boom boom down.

If you’re gonna do anything constructive during the next few, snow-ridden hellish days after gales and blizzards sweep the country (Yep, it’s another Daily Express quote), then DO send your children outside to make snowmen. Lots of them. Massive ones if you can. Getting the snow off the roads and pavements and into the form of a snow creature on your front lawn means we can get back to some semblance of normality.

Oh, and if you can, check in on an elderly neighbour and make sure they’re okay for things.

Stay safe.

Do you like snow? Is that the worst question ever? What events do you have planned as a severe polar plunge sees temperatures collapse? (Yes! Another quote. I just can’t help myself!) You gonna go sledging down the local hill? Visit an ice fair on the Thames like in olden times? Or are you gonna go rescuing dogs that fall into icy lakes and freeze yourself to death? (There’s always one). We look forward to reading your thoughts in our comments hole, as always.  Oh, and thanks for reading.

One comment on Do you wanna build a snowman?

  • Ziggy_Mondus

    I remember walking in our local “Red” Hills (cos they were always on fire due to stupid kids playing with matches) when I was about ten.
    OK, I started one when I was about eight, a fire on the Red Hills, I mean. I just picked up an ember from the fire made by kids who’d been swimming in the canal (near those said hills) and walked through the grass, not realising I was catching and lighting the red-hot-Summer tinder dry ears of grass.
    The fire brigade was called and I was too terrified of admitting I’d done it, because giants disguised as firemen scared me shitless.
    Anyway, to continue, the Red Hills (which were always on fire due to stupid kids with matches – have I mentioned that?), were covered in snow.
    I’d walked them a million times and knew where every nook, dip and cranny was. Until I stepped on solid ground. Well, it was supposed to be solid ground. I remembered it as solid ground. It SHOULD have been solid ground.
    Unfortunately, some wag had been overnight and pushed a hole I knew was nearby, about two metres North of where it normally was, and I was suddenly sat in a snow-hole about two metres deep.
    I got out, obviously, because I’m here telling the story, but I was covered in snow which melted and got down my neck – front and back – and I was quickly frozen and tear-arsing home as fast as my little legs would carry me.
    So I don;t like snow, either Spen.

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