Wasn’t it lovely to see even the tiniest, tiniest snowfall? I went out to get a soya latte and initially I thought that either I had spots before my eyes (common, before I’ve had my caffeine), or someone was burning really fine paper. It was hardly snow at all, just fluffy rain, but it still made me feel happy. There’s tons more forecast and it could realistically be a White Christmas! I have no idea why that’s cool, but it is.
Every time it snowed when I was a kid in West Cork, there was an instant power-cut. We had our own pump-driven water supply because we lived in the sticks, so no electricity meant no water, too. Even in my adult form, I am probably about 13% melted snow.
We couldn’t drive anywhere if the fall was any deeper than a quarter of an inch: gritters hadn’t even heard of where we lived, let alone bothered to get out that far. We were only 4 miles from Kinsale – very civilized and only 20 minutes from Cork airport, don’tcha know – but as far as the council was concerned, that was way off the map. While that meant no school (yay!) it also meant no access to friends (boo!): there are only so many snowballs you can throw at your sister and animals cease to appreciate it after immediately.
I have no reason to have positive snow-related nostalgia, but I do. It’s so pretty. It’s off the telly. Yes, it’ll stop any traffic in or out of Muswell Hill (boo!) but it’ll make the local parks look amazing (yay!). Camden is only Dickensian when it snows; who needs A Christmas Carol in 3D when you have London in 5D right outside? All this, and (as I write) it hasn’t even landed properly yet – imagine how dewy-eyed I’ll be if it did.
I feel a bag of piping hot chestnuts coming on.
Please do come and warm your cockles with me at Lenny Beige at the Picalle on Dec 21, or with London Comedy Improv on Dec 30.
