Why I can't wait for a snowfall

IF it's on TV and in the newspapers it must be true.

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Must be, must be... must be.

Child Number One is slowly learning to read.

It would appear she has also learned to listen, albeit very selectively.

So, when news broke a week or so ago on the front pages of our newspapers – right there in black and white –and on the TV weather reports that big white flakes were set to fall from the sky, it was the cue for much rejoicing.

The sledge was rescued from its sorry plight off the pile of stuff that is rarely used but that no-one will throw out in the draughty old hut, and the nightly process of looking heaven-ward and beseeching the snow to fall began.

The weekend came and went. TV pictures showed lots of other kids playing in the snow and having the kind of fun that you just don't get in the rain.

A friend from the eastern side of the country rubbed salt in the wound by posting us pictures of her kids building snowmen and generally frolicking in the white stuff.

Number One was unamused.

Since a couple of casual blizzards was up there at No.2 on the Christmas wish list, it really has been a long wait.

The twitching of the curtains is the first act of the morning and the last at night.

But so far nothing other than a paltry dusting of frost on the grass and on the pavements.

And there are no snowball fights to be had in that.

If all goes according to plan – and I have become an avid follower of hourly weather reports since this process began – there should be much delight tomorrow when finally the snow is set to fall on Glasgow, just in time for the weekend.

The itinerary has been planned to the very last detail.

The cold weather gear that takes an eternity to wrestle each child into is lined up and waiting to go.

By the time the thermals, the layers, the fleeces, the scarves, the boots and the hats are on, at least one of us will already be thinking of the much-needed après-ski refreshments on offer.

And, the betting book is open; will either kid last longer than 10 minutes before bleating about the cold and wanting to come into the fire for a heat, leaving a sodden trail of wet clothes behind them?

Still, Number One will be grateful for the choice.

Before it all turns to slush.


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