I don't snow what all the fuss is about.
London under a grey sky was transformed last week into a glistening jewel: royal blue skies, tree tops begging under the weight of snow, paths lined with winter daisies poking out from a white blanket. It was arctic, but beautiful. Why grumble?
There are two funny things that the winery weather brings: funny hats and funny ways of walking. People who would normally never be seen dead in something resembling a wigwam coloured in by a five year old suddenly transform their usually fashionable selves into hilarious hat models. I love it: the variety, old and young championing the same fashion item (needs must, you understand).
Then there is also the way those same fashionistas refuse trainers/flats/wellies and stick to devilish heels. The pavements become a Disney on Ice parade with John Cleese's funny walks being put to shame. I actually witnessed one woman last week flinging herself between car side mirrors (car owners not to be seen, obviously. They must have been in the shops buying boots with grips).
The unfunny part of this winter wonderland, is of course, people trapped in trains and buses; parents having to go sledging as they kids are off school; broken bones and the media. They whip up a frenzy as much as a blizzard does the snow, and as if this island of ours has never seen anything like it. Airports closed! (Like last year) Train chaos! (Like last year) Small village in Yorkshire down to last crate of milk! (Go next door, they've got fifteen pints) It's as absurd as installing air con for the three days a year temperatures reach 30; the runways melting and Nestle running out of ice cream.
So, we can't do extremes. We panic. My point is, why are we surprised by this? It always happens. Buy yourself some of those crazy winter hats and get on with it. Build a snowman, get your ironing done, write those Christmas cards, make a snow angel.
Because when the sleek white turns to slushy grey, you'll hear them all turn round and say, "Wasn't it prettier before?"