Here's the latest in our new series of blogs by Glasgow students.

Helen Howie is a journalism student at Glasgow Caledonian University. Her specialties include hard news, wine drinking, and over thinking everything.

I was on the edge of my seat. My mouth was wide open and I couldn't take my eyes off the slumped figure cowering on the ground, screaming in terror.

My bus was stopped in gridlocked traffic and from the upper deck, my view of the brutal, seemingly unprovoked attack was perfectly clear. Whether or not I wanted to see this was another matter.

The victim, laying flat out on the ground, had his open palm out in front of his face, in an attempt to protect himself from the blitz.

But he was far from defeated. There was still some fight left in this dog. As his merciless attacker lunged forward, the exhausted but unbroken warrior leapt to his feet and revealed his secret weapon, hidden from my sight until now.

A snowball as big as his head.

There they stood, two men frozen in time, staring each other down, both armed, both shivering, but neither afraid. Their duel was about to commence.

Their eyes narrowed, their hearts raced and their arms tightened, each waiting for the other to make his move.

The carnage which ensued was the stuff of epic poetry; the battle of Troy re-enacted, with a cast of two, here in a gloomy Glasgow street. In a flash and almost in unison, they let fly. Their missiles screamed through the air, each whistling toward its target.

Two explosions of white mist meant I couldn't see the reaction of either man as the massive bricks of packed snow reached their targets. Each had been hit right in the face with extreme force.

The situation quickly escalated. Rounds of snowballs flew in every direction and as a third warrior approached, I knew things were about to get even messier. It was only when an unruly snowball hit the window I was looking through that I found myself thrown back to reality with a bump.

A quick glance at my watch let me know I was now 7 minutes late for my lecture. Where had the time gone?

As my mind searched for excuses, the bus pulled over to let people on. Up to the top deck marched the two last men standing; soaking wet, shivering, and laughing their heads off.

"That was pure gid, wint-it?" said one exhausted warrior to his enemy. The chilling response told me this battle was from over…

"Aye, but I'm getting ye again once I'm aff this bus ya bam."

No-one will ever know how this war ended. But what I can tell you, is that it wasn't anywhere near as terrifying as the look I got from my lecturer as I walked in to class - twenty minutes late, and still grinning.

Gladiators of Glasgow... I salute you.