If you're still experiencing balmy autumn days with jumpers tied loosely around your waist and sunglasses on top of your head, you may not have heard about the recent news that sent shock waves through Yorkshire this week just gone. Nope, I'm not talking about the American election (god knows that's been spoken about enough), but the news of snow. Snow.
One thing I've been most excited about since moving up North has been the prospect of a 'proper winter'. How early this winter would occur, I didn't know. Whispers of 'have you seen the weather for Tuesday night?' rippled around work and I excitedly refreshed my weather app ever 20 minutes. There was no doubt about it. Snow, 'double snowflake' on a black cloud snow. For HOURS overnight. We discussed the snow policy. We spoke about what we'd spend our impromptu day off doing. I had visions of reading on the sofa under the window, slowly watching a white carpet rise up the windowsill. It felt like snow. Sharp cold that wraps itself around your knees.
On Wednesday morning I leapt out of bed like a child from a Disney cartoon in the 1950s. I flung the curtains open to... BUGGER ALL. Not a single snowflake. THANKS, MET OFFICE. What a blowing disappointment. I'm still not over it, clearly.