Disclaimer – Firstly I feel I should make it clear that I’m talking to that *wonderful* white stuff outside the house and not some poor person out there with the surname of said white stuff.
Right. Now that’s done, my rant can begin..
Snow, aka that-8-bloody-inches-of-white-stuff-outside-my-front-door, is fab on the first day. It’s fresh, in pristine condition, makes you feel Christmassy whatever time of year it is, and looks beautiful. Cut to half way through that first day, and the place is a state. There’s brownish-grey slush everywhere, it’s super slidey, kids are crying from being cold or bruised.. Isn’t that fun? Cut to three days later and you’re ready to tear your bleedin’ hair out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t like the stuff. Well, not exactly. I do like it. It’s really pretty, and I love going for walks in it, it just looks so disgusting after not very long that you kinda wonder what all the fuss is about. And well, when everything’s come to a stop due to it’s presence, you kinda start to want it to bugger off.
Why is it that a little bit of snow causes the whole bloody country to come to a standstill?! I mean okay, fair enough, maybe there are record amounts of the damn stuff carpeting our little island, and the roads are coated with thick compacted ice and snow that kinda resembles Austria on my school ski trip, but even so? People have lives to be getting on with here!! I should technically be currently sat around with my fellow house 20-ites drinking tea and most probably preparing to go out for the night. But am I? Am I fuck. Because, thanks to this wonderful white stuff, and the added joy of living in a ditch in the countryside, we’re snowed in. Did I mention the joy?
This past week I had plans. Plans that I would have liked to have happened. Y’know, seeing people I haven’t seen in months and now won’t see in even longer, stocking up on all that actually quite useful crap that’s needed before another term at uni, the pub (an important one there). Oh, and going back to Brighton. This *wonderful* snow has scuppered my week up. Not to mention all the people who’ve missed work, school, exams, flights, etc..
Plus, I have become known as ‘the most boring person in the world’ because I’m actually not the world’s biggest fan of sledging and snow ball fights. That’s bollocks. I like the snow. I love skiing for starters. But I’m not gonna lie, I don’t see the appeal in rolling around getting soaked and frozen and then having to walk back through however many hills and fields just to return to a cold house and semi-dry clothes. I reckon, if I were with the friendlings I might have a laugh. They’d get me involved, but respect my cacked-up-issues enough to know when to stop. But like I said to someone the other day, what with the brother and his mates, and the ‘W’ boys up on that hill, who do you reckon would be the key target? Yours fucking truly. Genius. So fine, call me the most boring person ever, at least I’m warm. And dry. And not covered in bruises. And can appreciate snow without having the damn stuff shoved down the back of my neck.
You’ve had your fun now Mister Frost. So please. Bugger off?