No-snow day.

I’m not sure if it’s something everyone goes through it some point in their lives. No, I’m not talking about that uncomfortable talk with your mum the first time you bring a girl home. I am in fact on about a newly found hatred of that white fluffy stuff that’s cold, wet, and has an annoying tendency to hurtle towards you in small, compacted balls.

I just can’t figure it out, and it’s getting me introspective. Snow was a real rarity growing up. Snow that settled on the ground was almost unheard of. I think up until I was fifteen there was one winter, just one, when snow settled. I was at primary school and everyone got sent home. Despite living five minutes from the school my mum wasn’t sure if it was snowy enough to come and get me and so I was waiting until about three.

Then there was one snow day on the day of a mock GCSE, so I had to trapse in while kids coming away from school were proudly proclaiming it was a snow day, and I knew I had this stupid mock. That can’t have helped.

Follow that with February 2009. A university-closing snow day. Of course it fell slap-bang on my birthday, so I got no mail, no party, and was generally cold for days. But I did watch people slide on baking trays into fences.

And then last year. Stuck out on the sticks, over a mile from the nearest supermarket, and an already god-awful bus service was reduced to the occasional coach on snowchains. And then it was too clear for snow chains but not good enough for buses. And that was really snowy, which sucked. Oh yes, and I had a douchebag housemate that insisted (well he didn’t insist but was too selfish to think otherwise) on wearing snowy shoes through the house. On top of not washing.

So excuse me for not wanting any snow this winter.


About Jack
A small-time traveller in a big-time world

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