It seems that, no matter how depressed I get, there are still some things that manage to break through and cheer me up.  I’ve been having a bleak few weeks, with the hideous feeling of falling slowly off something high and slippery, dropping a little further as each nail breaks in turn.

So while everyone else in the UK appears to have spent the last 48 hours bitching about the government in general and Boris Johnson in particular not getting their act together to ensure there is no more than a cosmetic impact on life, I’ve been finding something to make me smile.  If it makes me shallow, so be it, but I can’t see a harmless British snowfall without thinking about other times.  Usually better times, when I was too young to have a clue what I wsa letting myself in for.

I spent yesterday afternoon watching the snow fall on the Cotswolds, warming my feet by an imitation log fire I could turn up or down with a simple remote control.  I also found many reasons for not letting my toddler out to play in it while it was still falling.

All the while I was anticipating this morning, when the sky was set to clear and the temperature warm slightly once the wind had died down.  Predictably, H had lost interest in the snow before breakfast, preferring to return to his toy cars, so it took close on an hour to persuade him to get suitably dressed - he might have been happy to go out in his PJ’s and just the one shoe, but being the mean Mummy I am, I bundled him into fleeces and lined trousers and off we went.

It was probably the high spot of my week.  For just half an hour, our entire focus was on the construction of a snowman.  It seems there are some skills you never really forget, and no matter that it looks like a bleached out version of Fungus the Bogeyman, we were all proud of the effort.

So I’m glad it snowed and gave me a good memory for the future.  But God help Boris et al if my train to London gets cancelled tomorrow morning!