It's freezing outside. Traffic and transport is all messed up. The pavements are slippery and cold. It's not much better inside. I'm trussed up like a turkey and feeling positively past it. Only an old fogey would wish for grey when we have brilliant picture post card scenary outside....
I wrote the above paragraph this morning and planned to continue in similar whingeing vein. But something about the old fogey bit got to me. It niggled and niggled until I started obsessing about it. And that's no good.
So I went. Outside. Just now. Just to see if it really is all it's cracked up to be. Don't get me wrong I travel in it if I need to and I'm pretty good at admiring it then cursing it from a window side seat. Hmm. The old fogey thing...I don't know I guess I just wanted to see if only children can enjoy this weather. So picture the scene if you will. I am alone. (The Child is away). It's pitch black and white outside. My trainers are half-covered with snow. Fresh powdery snow. I decide to take a walk. If you can call pushing your feet against the white stuff and making silly patterns walking, then yeah, I take a walk in the slow (this is not a typo!).
I meet only two people on the way. Grown people. Adults. They give me the smile that says, 'yeah, we're lovin' it too.' Just walking a leetle bit slower than normal so no one notices how much fun we're having. At the top of the road there's this big pavement-shaped white space begging for some shoe shaping. I oblige. Twist my feet in the stuff until I have written my name in big grey capitals. The sky is black and all is quiet. Just me making a shoep-shoep sounds with my shoe in the snow. I should write a book about it titled, The Shoe Who Loved The Snow. That would be the first in the series. Second would be, The Shoe Who Stalked the Snow. Final in the trilogy would be, The Shoe Who Became The Snow....I choose me to play the lead in all three. Pink fleece, white bobbed hat and scarf. Lone figure dancing in the snow to a very happy song.