At what age do we go from waking up on a winters morning and shouting ‘yippee’ when we look out of the window and see a thick blanket of snow, and instead look out the window and groan loudly?
Maybe with me it was my twenties? Can’t remember!
Writing this piece (Thursday), I am looking out at a very very white village. So it was working from home for me today then 
We live on a hill, and the road down a couple of levels is, shall we say, interesting. Another thing, our Council gritters are nowhere to be seen apart from the main road. Of course keeping the main road clear is important, but not really any good when you can’t reach it! I’ll stop here on this one.
A couple of good things though. One – the log fire comes into its own. Two – I get to play in the snow with daughter Chalky. Yes, she is off school due to the white stuff.
I actually was proactive with the ordering of the logs this winter, and we have an admirable stash of ash and oak piled up at the side of the drive.
There is something about a real fire, and the stove we use really does pipe out a lot of heat, helping with the usage of expensive oil central heating!
So, we ensure that each night before bed the stove is fed its logs, and by the time we creep downstairs at 6.30 in the morning, its still going ready to be fed once more. This is fantastic on a really bitter frosty morning, and with a strong hot cup of tea it sets you up for the day.
So there I was doing a bit of work, trying to keep warm, when daughter and her friend had other ideas. They had done a bit of sledging, built a very presentable snowman, and now wanted a snowball fight. Apparently the missing ingredient was me.
So, on with the wellies and coat, and I trudged out into the garden. Where were they?
Oh oh.
A snowball whizzed passed my ear followed by another.
Ambushed!
So I grabbed some snow and attacked. There was squeals and giggling as I charged round the corner, and managing to keep my feet, threw a couple of good ones. That meant it was my turn to retreat, and of I went, breath billowing in the cold air.
Hiding, I peeped out and wished I hadn’t. Chalky got me fair and square full in the face, and then she fell about laughing as my glasses trapped some snow making me look like some form of weird yeti.
This went on for some time, but eventually we all tired and decided it was time for more hot tea.
Looking ahead at the weekend, the snow is melting, and being of a certain age we are off to a 1970′s fancy dress 50th birthday. I have invested in a costume and wig (my wife had suggested I just went as I was) and need to get into the bopping mood.
On top of that I have a joke – ‘What is the difference between a pigeon and a Hedge Fund Manager? At least the pigeon can make a small deposit on a ferrari!’
No? Oh well, suit yourselves.
About Graeme Urwin
