Okay we’ve all had a laugh, we’ve all had a great time with the snow, but really now it’s just like being trapped some slushy shit version of Narnia. Don’t get me wrong, I like a bit of snow as much as the next person. I’m the first out there in my duffle coat freezing my nipples off.
Sledging, building snowmen, watching business men fall over in the street, drunk people not being able to stand up for days due to the black ice, laughing at the news stories, people trapped in cars overnight, and those eight people who always seemed to get stranded in some ridiculous pub at the top of Ben Nevis: “It’s just like having one big lock in, but there’s no beer left now, so we’re on the Crème De Menthe and Dave the barman’s been sick in his hood…again”…Life just turns into one big montage of Wham’s “Last Christmas” video on a loop. It’s the gift that just keeps giving. Makes you all fuzzy and warm inside.
Then it just turns to shit: no buses, no trains, no heating, wet feet, and everyone’s been panic buying the tins of sardines and party food, …”we might be snowed in, but we can survive on sausage rolls for two weeks easy”. And quite frankly after the 12th day of snowballs fights in Tesco car park at lunchtime, it’s becoming a bit boring, ramming solid blocks of ice into each other’s faces. Can’t we just have a flash mob picnic instead…on no wait a minute it’s Scotland we don’t get a summer. We have our barbeques inside the flat. Scottish summer, just two days of general uncomfortable sweating where boys take their tops off for us to enjoy, their skin being so white it’s actually blue and ladies over fifty wear yellow vest tops sitting outside drinking white wine in the sun while pricking their bingo wings with forks. Although who doesn’t love it when a nation lives up to its stereotype.
Yes, summer so we get to drink outside as a treat. Although, I do realise there is a lot of drinking in Scotland done outside all year round, mostly under the cover of hedges. There is a very fine line between sophisticated summer drinking and being an alkie. General rule of thumb it’s the shouting and the season that makes the difference. Did I just see a Snow Leopard on the Links, or was it just a Cougar drinking a bottle of Frosty Jacks cider through a pink straw? Crap weather or not I guess we’re just a nation of whingers. We could all be sitting in a hot tub in glorious sunshine sipping champagne whilst being served three different Mediterranean flavours of mini quiche from a dwarf with a tray on his head and it still wouldn’t be perfect enough.
Or maybe I’m just slipping ridiculously into being a mental old woman. Finding the first topic of conversation at the water cooler isn’t last night’s BBC Sunday night costume drama, or CSI Broughton Street (delete where appropriate) it’s more “well what about this weather”…the next thing you know I’ll be looking out the window, noticing it’s raining and following it up with the phrase…”but at least it’s fresh”…Oh dear…but before I leave work early to go home to take the washing in I would just like to state for the record, I don’t have cats.