I hate to say this, but somewhere along the line I have become an utter snow Scrooge. Yes, alright, it’s all very pretty, there are icicles, leaves and holly berries looking all lusciously Christmas-card-esque, the sun on the snow is rather jolly at times, but actually, no, look at it, be sensible, it’s a nightmare.
This morning I had set out late enough as it was, for my lecture. And it then took me over an hour to get to said lecture. So I missed the lecture altogether in the end. This is partly due to the lack of grip on the boots I was wearing, partly because I’m a massive wuss, and all because of the snow.
And yes, I am a massive wuss. I don’t want to fall over, I’ll get wet, I’ll hurt myself, I’ll slow myself down, I’ll probably rip my gloves or my coat or something, it’ll be horrible. Doubly horrible because in the snow you’re more likely to break something. Even more horrible because the massive downside of being as flexible as I am (yes, OK, have a good giggle, move on…) is that if you fall, you’re more likely to twist your ankle or your knee or your hip as you go down and do permanent damage. A friend of mine who, like me, is hypermobile, is going to be in a wheelchair or on crutches for life because of one simple trip involving a rabbit hole and a knee twisted through 180 degrees. And that is frankly not a risk I like having to take just to get down to lectures or into town.
So no, frankly, I am not a fan of the snow. Eight inches and it’s still falling. I had to miss orchestra last night because I absolutely point blank refuse to risk taking my cello out for a walk in these conditions. It’s far too valuable for that, and anyway, falling with a cello is likely to cause me even more damage. I’ve now got to try and man up in the next few hours in order to head back out for a choir practice. But right now I’m going to climb into bed with my anatomy textbook and an obscene quantity of coffee.