Misinformed, angry, coffee-addled ranting.
It is a widely established fact that the favourite topic of conversation amongst British people is the weather, discussing the huge variety of meteorological conditions we experience in this country – ranging from ‘grey and damp’ to ‘grey and soggy’. However, contrary to company policy, Mother Nature has gone off-script and allowed something worryingly noteworthy.
This week, weather happened. More specifically, it snowed a bit. How do I know this? Because I saw it on the news. And on Facebook. And Twitter. And in text messages and phone calls from friends and loved-ones (and one or two cretins I can’t seem to shake off).
And also because I own a sodding window.
The way people have been going on about it makes you wonder just when exactly they started believing they were the fount of all knowledge, with the rest of us crowded gormlessly around listening to their words of wisdom like a load of peasants gathered in front of the town crier as he tells us the King has died of syphilis You don’t need to tell me it’s snowing where I am because I am, in fact, there. You don’t need to tell me it’s snowing where you are because I am not there. The only way this would be relevant to me is if I were planning on travelling to meet you, and chances are I’m not, because I hate you.
That’s not to say that nothing interesting comes of snow. If your journey home took five hours, leading you and your fellow commuters to descend into a mass orgy followed swiftly by a spot of cannibalism – perhaps send me a text. But the simple fact that it’s snowing is not a message that really needs to be spread to every single person you have ever met, ever.
Despite my usual sunny, bubbly persona, a few of you probably have the impression of me as something of a misanthrope. You probably suspect I hate snow, and the joy that it brings to simpletons. Not so. Being a simpleton myself, I do in fact, very much enjoy snow. I enjoy throwing it at pensioners. I enjoy making giant penises out of it in local parks. I enjoy the fact it makes any scene look like a pretty little postcard, even when the view from your bedroom consists of a tramp violently shitting himself in a Tesco car park.
Snow is inherently fun. The fact that it can result in serious injury and death makes it even more appealing. Once when I was younger, my brother and I made the mistake of sharing the same toboggan. We went careering downhill at a much faster speed than we could control, leading to us veering wildly off course and forcing a middle aged man to jump off his sledge to safety like a bad guy jumping away from an explosion in a really shit Die Hard film. Our sledge mercilessly crushed his pathetic counterpart, and we continued down the slope until we collided with the back of a stationary Land Rover.
(I once told this story to my housemate, who immediately ruined it by recounting his own, much better winter wipeout which resulted in a broken back. Lucky bastard.)
There are people who hate snow and there are people who quite enjoy it. I do understand both sides. The pavements get perilously slippy and all the public transport links get shut down at the merest sniff of a snowflake. And in fairness, playing in the snow ultimately brings little more than frostbitten fingers and a load of frozen rain in your pants.
But snow is fun and we should celebrate the few days a year where the weather actually has some purpose. Whether that purpose be building giant phalluses to annoy the local mums and frighten children, or knocking a friend’s tooth out when your snowball ‘accidentally’ has a rock hidden in it; enjoy it. Just stop bloody going on about it.