Something Squishy...

I was rudely awaken this morning by a friend letting himself into my room and putting snow in my bed.

There are many uncouth aspects to this seemingly frivolous action. Not only had he entered my private space without having the grace to knock (I could have been doing anything). He also made my bed wet, which is just not on. Only I have the authority to wet my own bed.

But the cruelest part of this prank was not the breaking and entering, nor the soiling of my mattress - it was the false hope it gave.

Since moving to London, I have not seen so much as one measly flake of the white stuff. Childhood memories of rosy-cheeks, plastic sleds and impromptu snowball fights have faded, supplanted by hazy visions of my bus going past in London's smoggy pea-soupers.

But, at this 8am this morning, there was actually snow falling in the city.

I was undeniably excited about this; I almost got up and went outside to play. I would have ran into the alley around the back of my house and made a exultant snow-angel, were it not a minefield of used condoms and hypodermic needles.

I stayed in bed, secure in the knowledge that a few more hours sleep would give me enough energy to enjoy the snow.

And, of course, three hours later the snow had gone, my heart gently wasting away with the melt water.

Why doesn't snow settle anymore? It's still snow, but "without any of the inherent fun of snow", as a friend would say. Like alcohol-free beer or a porn-free newsagent.

I felt this morning, for the first time in ages, the thrill of seeing snow on the ground. I felt like I wanted to chase Andrew King, the class fat kid, around the playground before stuffing snow down the back of his wheezing neck. That fizz of pure glee that can only be felt when your hands, face and ears have all gone numb - the anaesthetic thrill of a snowy air.

But no. All that happened today - with no remaining snow on the ground - was that my football practice got cancelled and I my fingers went numb on back from to Sainsbury's.

Like puddles. One time, the smallest pool of murky rainwater would be rendered enthralling simply by jumping into it. If I did that nowadays I'd have wet socks for the rest of the day and would probably have to machine wash by shoes to get the dirt out of the laces.

Weather is just snow fun anymore.