Snow makes the world look different. Gardens covered in cotton wool and rooftops with soft peaks like a really good Pavlova. Kids (and grown ups) can’t resist the urge to build a Snowman – a noun so politically incorrect I want to SHOUT it out loud.
I went for a walk in the snow yesterday. A little pootle around the block so I could pretend I lived in Switzerland. I was wrapped up in numerous layers plus a coat that restricted my breathing and a silly hat with ear flaps that make you deaf. I was so in the zone I almost expected a herd of reindeer to come galloping down the street.
And then I fell. In the road. It was over before I realised what was happening and I lay, useless, like someone’s discarded fish and chips. The pain in my back was, well, painful, and I thought if I hadn’t broken my Coccyx I was surely about to be run over by the euphoric commuters arriving home from work early on a snow day. In desperation, I rolled, like one of those seals on ‘Winterwatch’ into the gutter and did what my mother would describe as “gather myself.”
I was never really sure what that meant but I tucked in my vest and hobbled home. Whereupon I had a migraine and chipped a tooth.
That’s snow business.