No. I don’t want to build a chuffing snowman

A snowman with grumpy facial features edited on.

I’ve never been a fan of snow and events this week have only served to reaffirm this. As is always the case with me and minor annoyances, there are a few reasons.

It starts with the threat of snow and the resultant behaviour of people. The most sensible and rational of folk suddenly become giddy with excitement.

They either get carried away by the romantic notion of it…

… or panic buy things they already have an abundance of at home…

It’s not just people either – technology seems to have a mad five minutes too:

Then there’s the fact that it reminds the kids of the existence of Frozen. Youngest has demanded we watch said film and the irritating festive short numerous times this week.

Although it has some redeeming qualities and isn’t nearly as nauseating as a lot of other Disney films, I’m still fed up of it.

You can tell me I should let it go all you like, but even Elsa is clearly sick of the snow too. No matter how many times Anna knocks on the door, she quite clearly does not want to build a snowman.

I don’t blame her. Given how popular our garden is with the neighbourhood cats, neither do I.

Next up is the snow itself. It’s cold and wet and causes all kinds of chaos even when there’s hardly any of it. It looks nice for all of five minutes before turning into slush and ice. It’s somewhat telling that someone who shares his name with it clearly isn’t a fan.

Back to the slush and ice and this, of course, leads to other problems.

Particularly when people on the school run try to be chivalrous by stepping aside to let others past, only to slip over, slide down a minor incline and almost take out other parents and children at the bottom of it.

Yes, this sounds like a very specific complaint, but it’s exactly what I did this morning. You see? Even when I replace my seasonal grumpiness with altruistic acts, it bites me on the arse.

Well, bruises and soaks it anyway.

So, no, I don’t want to build a chuffing snowman. Spring can bloody well hurry up.

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