Dear snow...

Dear snow...

You are very very pretty but it would be really good of you if you could give the weather forecasters a bit more of a heads up next time, ok? I mean, it was a beautiful surprise this morning to step out into another inch or snow of powdery white, but I was a bit unprepared.

We were already running late so I had no time to go and swap my toasty ugg boots (not real ones of course, just the cheap fakes) for my (cold but groovy) wellies.

By the time I had tackled the transport system, trudged through your snowy deposits on London Bridge, nearly toppled on the ice by the Monument and narrowly missed being hit by an evil taxi at Fenchurch Street, my fluffy warm boots had turned to soggy wet sponges, soaking up every droplet they touched. Then after half an hour of trudging slowly through the streets to the office my arthritic joints seized up.

I arrived at the office soaked through from head to toes. I was so upset I cried as my fingers thawed on the wonderfully hot heater next to my desk. I then thought it would be an excellent idea to dry my boots on said heater, but burnt my fingers on the metal buckles when I lifted them off. Ouch.

I’m not blaming you snow, not at all. But if you could save yourself for the weekends that would be great. Alternatively if you are going to make an appearance, snow, then please make it a proper effort so I at least get totally snowed in and don’t have to attempt to go to work at all, that would be lovely.

Yours sincerely,

Ali
xx