I am too old for snow days to be this exciting.
Snow is, in theory, everything I hate.
It’s cold, wet, and a boring colour.
It’s disruptive, making a menace out of an already-chaotic transport system.
And it’s dangerous, too. The other day I had to take my shoes off and risk hypothermia just to take my bins out, because my path had turned into an ice-rink overnight.
I’m sure it was funny to watch – but less so if I’d been older, or frailer.
And snow is expensive! Cranking the heating just to keep a semblance of warmth in the house during a cost of living crisis is no joke.
I firmly believe I wasn’t meant to be Scottish. My taste buds, tan-taking complexion and temperature regulation are all firmly Mediterranean in spirit.
But then… it snows.
And my blood starts singing “Caledonia!”.
Because there’s nothing – nothing at all – like Scotland in the snow.
The tiny bird footprints on the topmost powdery layer.
Icicles glinting dangerously from pediments, the perfect murder weapon and decoration all rolled in one.
The crunch.
Something about the quiet, and the air so fresh and cold it’s almost blue, makes me feel like I’ve gone back in time to an era before anything was here.
I look out at the white blanket and half expect to see woolly mammoths tramping across the horizon.
Instead I see a car park, full of miserable people stamping their feet and scraping their windshields, little puffs of breath rising off their faces.
And I feel smug about the fact I’m not one of them.
Because the very best part of a snow day is watching it from inside.
Let it snow… on someone else
Call me a hypocrite, but for all my poeticism and wonder, I’m not willing to get my feet wet again.
Long gone are my days of snowman-building. I’ll stay curled up with my hot chocolate, watching the flakes fall past the window, like a wee granny.
My parents are better than me at snow days.
Today they’ll be playing with the dog in the garden, having snowball fights, and dragging the shiny red sledge (a birthday present from dad to mum last year) up to the top of the hill by our house.
I suppose that’s why snow feels so exciting. It brings out the inner child in people.
And no matter how big of a Grinch you are, a proper good snowfall this close to Christmas feels quite special.
Gorgeous – but deadly
Still, no amount of Ronettes and mulled cider is enough to make me forget how fortunate I am when the world freezes like this.
It’s all very well for me, an able-bodied, relatively healthy person with a home to call my own, to sit here and admire how pretty the snow looks.
But for some people in our nation, this beautiful postcard will be deadly.
Older people, already susceptible to the cold, who are unable to put their heating on due to rocketing fuel costs.
Rough sleepers who will freeze in Dundee’s doorways tonight.
The birds and animals pecking and scratching through solid, icy ground for something to eat.
Snow is gorgeous, but like most gorgeous things, she’s also terribly cruel.
And though we can’t fight weather, we can fight for one another.
Look out for the people around you tonight. Open your doors, if you can.
Be kind to the rail staff, the nurses and the posties braving the cold (and the cold shoulder of the nation) to keep their own family’s fires burning.
And if you do want to go play in the snow, wrap up. It’s cold out there
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