I’m not, by any stretch, a fan of anything cold unless it comes out of a beer tap and is called beer. I’m just a bit of a grumpy old man when it comes down to it. In fact, I’m a bit more than “just a bit” – but that is by the by.
I’m a complete grumpus when it comes to snow. Snow and I do not get along. It would be correct if I said:
I consider snow to be like a beach – only fun for those watching me try to manoeuvre in it.
If you’ve not got it – I really am not into the white stuff (snow).
You can only imagine my joy at 07:00 on a Sunday morning to hear MBW exclaim “Oh look, how exciting… wake up Doink! There’s snow!” I recall now that I tried to mumble something to show that I understand her excitement but don’t wish to participate at such a time that really should only exist if you have a flight to catch to somewhere without any snow. That wasn’t enough, and MBW had to wake up Monkey – who after a cup of tea joined in the excitement – shortly to be joined by Nuzzle and Scratch.
But here is why I don’t like snow – its not the fact its cold (contributing but not definitive) nor the fact it brings all the trains to a stand (that is the fault of BREL) – its the fact I cannot go anywhere in the humming stuff.
Whilst everyone is out taking picturesque photographs of their loved ones and their pets frolicking around in the ice and snow, leaving trails of their welly boots and building humanoid resemblances at best or at worst, humpty dumpty post fall, I am invariably kissed on the cheek, told excitedly “snow!” and a request is made for hot chocolates or tea to be prepared when they all return before I am abandoned for a fleeting visitor whos loyalty to the British winter season is about that of a climate change policy in an Oil Refinery.
If I try to go out, my wheelchair will instead end up wedged into the ice and snow, beached like I were a whale on a… beach. (I couldn’t think of a better analogy.) Or have ice wedged in every crevice on the wheelchair. Or find snow inside my arms in seconds. And have to be rescued every 10 seconds and parked back in my spot the camera and the instructions of “just sit there and take some photos of everyone looking happy.”
This year, I partook by sitting in a bedroom window and taking photos of the fun. My only consolance was that Scratch also didn’t quite get into either, but I suspect that is just as fleeting as the white stuff and next year she’ll be out there with the rest of them.
I’ll be the one inside. But its ok.
It gives me a chance to catch up on the sleep I lost in the morning.