Tag: weather

Guest Post: 7 Reasons Why Glastonbury Sucks

This week Luke Glassford has taken the 7 Reasons sofa to a field far, far away. Luke is the chief music writer for music news and review site, All-Noise.co.uk and has been to Glastonbury more times than he would ever admit.

Yes people, it’s that time of year again – festival season! When everyone suddenly becomes a super-cool, shades-and-wellies wearing fashionista and likes to prattle on about how much of a ‘proper music’ fan they are. Right in the middle of this hyped-up, giddy season of festivals is Glastonbury – the biggest, oldest and oh-so coolest of all the summer festivals. And here’s 7 reasons why it sucks!

1. Travel. The first ‘festival’ thing you will do is make your way to the festival site. Like going on holiday, this is always the best bit. Except, unlike your holiday, the journey will come to an abrupt end about 50 miles away from your destination because of massive, soul-draining, spirit-crushing tailbacks. And if you think the 7 hours of stop-start traffic on the way there is bad, just wait until you leave on Monday morning – when you’re tired, dirty and in absolutely no mood to be queuing up for hours just to get out the car park!

2. Toilets. Where there’s lots of people, there’s lots of poo. It’s just a fact of life. At festivals, toilets become stinking, disgusting cess pits which make you more aware of everyone else’s bodily functions than ever. This also makes you much more aware of your own bodily functions and you will, at one point, have this conversation with yourself: “Right, I’m front and centre at the Pyramid stage and my favourite bands on in 10 minutes – God I love Glasto. Oh, hold on, do I need a wee? Maybe, but I should be able to hold it. No, I’ve thought about it now, it’ll only get worse. Ill have to go find the toilets. But how am I going to find my way back to this great spot? The queue will be massive too – I’ll probably miss half the gig. Well I can’t hold it for 2 hours now so Ill have to go, lose my friends and lose my great spot to go stand in a toilet queue for an hour. God I hate Glasto!”

3. Camping. Everyone ‘lucky’ enough to be going to Glastonbury needs to ask themselves: “When did I last go camping?” and “Why have I not been since then?” The answers will probably be: “Ages ago” and “Because it was crap”. Now picture that crap camping experience at that picturesque location with the shower block. Now picture an overcrowded field with tents and guide-ropes pointed in a myriad of angles, trapping you in a cess pit of drunken louts and annoying, squealing teenagers – that’s Glastonbury!

4. Weather. Yes we’re British so we have to moan about the weather. But no-one likes rain when they’re trying to enjoy themselves. Eating fast-food and drinking lager is no fun whatsoever when it’s raining. It’s also no fun when it makes a quick trip to The Other Stage a tiring ordeal made all the worse by the fact all you can do when you get there is stand ankle deep in mud and get rained on. And what do you do next? Why, go back to your flooded tent of course!

5. Expense. It’s not only the fact it costs so much. It’s more the rigmarole you go through for the privilege of just getting the chance to pay for a ticket. Filling out a massive, intrusive form will get your foot in the door. Then you have to get a ticket. Sitting in your dressing gown for 4 hours with your laptop on, pressing ‘refresh’ every 10 seconds while hitting redial on your phone. At 9am. On a bloody Sunday!

6. Other People. No matter what fun activity you do in your life, one factor will always ruin it – other people. They get in the way, push in in queues, throw cups of wee all over the audience and generally annoy you.

7. U2. Just when you think Glastonbury couldn’t get any more suckier, they wheel out your mum’s favourite ‘rock’ band for an opening night smug-fest on the Pyramid Stage. There’s not much more to say to justify this point except – if you’re looking forward to seeing U2 then you probably deserve all the horrible, soul-destroying stuff that is going to happen to you over the weekend!

Obviously, this is quite a pessimistic view of Glastonbury and there is fun to be had – so we look forward to a follow-up here on 7reasons.org called something like “7 Reasons Why Glastonbury Rocked!!!” (If you can think of 7 things that is!)

June 25, 2011
7 Reasons to Love Snovember

It’s Snovember! Here are seven reasons to love it.

1. The Title. As a portmanteau word combining both weather and a month, Snovember works better than almost any other. In snow terms, its closest rivals are Snarch, Snuly and Snebruary, and although other weather events/months exist; Sune, Haily and Thunduary don’t even come close to Snovember for catchy, popular appeal and ease of pronunciation.

2. Effect. The snow buries things, which is excellent. Today it’s burying ongoing news stories such as the Irish financial crisis, higher rail ticket prices and other depressing news that we now have no chance whatsoever of hearing from the other side of the world, leaving us only with a vague sense that Ian Bell was very good and that there’s snow outside. Look! Snow! See the snow! Touch the snow! Smell the snow! Think only of the snow! It’s THE SNOW!!!

3. Thanksgiving. That’s right, it’s Thanksgiving day in the U.S. but now you won’t have to read about that here, because we’re far too excited by the snow to write about it. We don’t even know what they’re giving thanks for: Turkeys? Football? Macy’s? We don’t know, and we don’t care. Because it’s Snovember; we can see actual snow and because of that we won’t be hearing about turkeys on the evening news or anything else related to pilgrims or thankfulness that we don’t understand.

4. Safety. Councils in the UK tend to stockpile their grit in time for December and could potentially get caught out by the early snowfall but fortunately, as the wintry weather has come in Snovember, we have plenty of ashes* left over from bonfire night to spread on it. If the snow occurred in other months, we’d have had to cover it in tinsel, chocolate eggs or pumpkins; and falling over a pumpkin on your way to work is not the best start to the day.**

5. Indolence. The early snowfall gives everyone the excuse to do what they’ve really wanted to do since October and give up all outdoor exercise until the Spring. No rational person wants to go out running, cycling or canoeing during the cold half of the year and the snow is our opportunity to stop doing those things and concentrate on what we really want to spend the winter doing; which is eating our own bodyweight in Twiglets and drinking ourselves into a mulled-wine and sloe-gin induced stupor. We may all become hideously fat as a result, but the extra weight will just make us more stable in the snow and better protected when we fall over. Which will help offset the effect of the glühwein. And the winter Pimm’s.

6. Shopping. It’s Snovember! And rather than the snow reminding people that it’s Christmas soon and they need to go and do their shopping, it will prevent them from going out and buying Yule-related things. This means that we won’t have to devote as much time to arranging Christmas as usual and, even though we’ll now have less time to organise it, it will turn out exactly the same as every other year. And somehow, somewhere, it might just enter our thick skulls that we don’t need to devote a quarter of the year to organising bloody Christmas and it will happen anyway, regardless.

7. Preparedness. The trial run in Snovember will prepare us for winter proper. We’ll be able to get the annual bout of complaining that; our cars won’t work in un-driveable conditions, that the local council haven’t magicked the snow away, and that the entirely predictable snow in Sweden doesn’t cause chaos, out of the way and then get on with our lives as usual. Or we’ll just use it as an excuse to get in some extra complaining. Either way, we’re all benefiting from Snovember. In fact, we’re off to play in the snow right now. We’ve never even heard of cricket. It’s Snovember everybody! Look! Snow!

*We can’t emphasise enough how lower-case that entire word is.

**We’re not entirely certain about that, it might be bloomin’ marvellous, but we rather suspect that it may be a little undignified. Not to mention painful.

November 25, 2010
7 Reasons You Know it’s Autumn (in Yorkshire)

As I walked down the street yesterday, something suddenly hit me: It’s Autumn; here in Yorkshire. Here’s how I can tell.

1. Leaves. The leaves turn brown and fall from the trees. This, you may be thinking, is not unique to Yorkshire, and you would be correct. But here, the leaves fall horizontally and, while I was walking down the street yesterday, a large wet leaf flew from a tree at incredible speed and slapped me in the face. Aha, I thought, it must be autumn again. And ouch. And several minutes later, I developed the traditional Yorkshire ruddy complexion, which will probably last me until March.

2. Water. You may also think that water isn’t unique to Yorkshire and once more, you would be correct. But the fact is that wherever you live – unless you live in the sea – we probably have more of it than you. Whenever there’s a drought in the UK we still have water, and it’s often transported to drier counties (usually Kent) via tanker. And you can tell it’s autumn here because (incredibly) the daily rainfall increases from monsoon to biblical and our rivers get restless and start to explore the surrounding areas. There’s one hanging around at the end of my street right now.

3. Mud. You probably have mud in your gardens that you put your geraniums in, but that doesn’t really prepare you to see Yorkshire autumn mud. I have no idea where it comes from, but our mud is epic. All through the autumn, it’s bloody everywhere, just oozing from things: From our riversides to our footpaths, it eventually covers our towns and cities in a sludgy goo. In fact, Yorkshire is brown until the winter comes, and then it becomes brown and cold.

4. Darkness. On some Autumn days in Yorkshire, it just doesn’t get light. At all. And, when you’re trying to do something in the kitchen at lunchtime (usually making lunch) and you have to switch the lights on, you know it’s autumn. Or you’ve forgotten to open the blinds, but no one would blame you for that, as your view for this quarter of the year is mud, water, flying leaves and darkness. If darkness is even a view.

5. Meanness. Yorkshire folk have quite a reputation for meanness. Some of this is undeserved: The rumour that branches of the Yorkshire Bank don’t have a safe but do, in fact, keep all of their money under a giant mattress is not true and was started by some horrible foreigner (or me, as I sometimes call myself). But in the autumn, people in Yorkshire become chronically mean. Only yesterday, as I walked through the wind and the rain, coat wrapped tightly around me, I saw a man being dragged along by a large umbrella step into a six-inch-deep puddle, soaking his leg. And I laughed. And that was when the leaf hit me. And he laughed back. We’re mean in the autumn.

6. Millinery. Now, it’s also a fanciful stereotype that Yorkshire men wear flat caps all the time. This is not true. Even Yorkshire men don’t wear flat caps in the summer. How do you think many of them get their red, peeling scalps? The flat cap is seldom donned until the autumn. And then it’s worn pushed firmly onto the head to keep it from blowing away. When you see flat caps you know it’s autumn in Yorkshire. Or winter. Or spring.

7. People. Yorkshire is a beautiful place that rightly attracts a lot of tourists. And in the summer, they’re everywhere. Walking slowly and pointing. In the autumn, however, they disappear. I don’t know where they go: Perhaps they drown, perhaps they blow away, perhaps we just don’t see them in the darkness, but they do disappear. Hopefully to somewhere nice as it’s bloody grim here right now.

November 9, 2010
7 Reasons You Should Have A Music Festival In Your Garden

It’s Thursday! And to celebrate the day we present you with our third and final piece that was destined for the shelves inside Esquire, but didn’t quite make it.

1. Own Bed. No sleeping on the roughest terrain in history in a sleeping bag that is far too small for you. After the last act, you can just pop upstairs and collapse onto your dry, comfy mattress. And of course you won’t be woken by fifteen drunken idiots tripping over your guy-rope at 4am.

2. Bad Weather. If the British Summer decides to stick with tradition and deposit large amounts of water upon us each weekend, you can just move your festival indoors. No one gets wet, your girlfriend won’t moan that her make-up is running and you won’t spend the rest of the evening warning off blokes who have just noticed she isn’t wearing a bra.

3. Lost Belongings. There is nothing more sickening than waking up in your tent and realising that you lost your wallet and wedding ring last night. If you have your own festival though, there is no need to panic. Your wallet will be in the flower bed and your ring will be in next door’s cat. Your ring never ends up in next door’s cat at Glastonbury. Never. Though sometimes it is in next door’s cow.

4. Toilets. A customary hazard at festivals. You’re going to drink large quantities of lager – even if you don’t like the bloody stuff – and that means ending up in queue for the temple of bacteria that is the portaloo. What’s the point when at home you can use your clean bathroom? A bathroom that smells of your partner’s potpourri and doesn’t have 100 people waiting ahead of you. Unless you accidentally left your front door open, of course.

5. Prices. Let’s be honest, the admission price to stand in a field for three days is excessive. You could have driven to Estonia on a small motorbike for the cost of a burger and chips. And you always end up spending £10 on a novelty blow-up dolphin that has a slow-puncture. All in all, a waste of money. Have your festival at home and you can charge yourself sensible prices. And there’s more chance of having a puncture repair kit to hand too.

6. Better Yourself. Music festivals – despite the name – aren’t just about the music. There are workshops and craft stalls and clowns and people trying to get you to take part in yoga classes. Have a festival at home and you can do all these yourself. You can have a woodwork workshop that will involve you putting up those shelves that you have been meaning to do for six months. You can set up a stall and try to flog all your rubbish from the attic to unsuspecting neighbours. And you can take part in your own yoga class. Which will involve bending down to pick up another beer. And relax.

7. Dreadlocks. Most of the people at your home-festival won’t be pierced and be-dreadlocked. Unless, that is, you have dreadlocks and a piercing. In which case, what are you doing reading this bit? Go to the Fashion & Grooming section at once! In fact, did you steal this magazine?

September 9, 2010
7 Reasons August Is Too Early For The Football Season To Start

If you think that’s a slightly odd title – hopefully only for timing reasons – then we certainly understand why. This post was one of three that were originally going to appear in Esquire magazine. Due to space and content issues though, it wasn’t meant to be. We’re delighted to say however, that we can now show you what you would have read on the newsstands. If it makes you feel better, please buy a copy of Esquire, print this page and stick it in. If that wouldn’t make you feel better, just read as you normally would. The two other Esquire pieces will appear over the next two days. Exciting, huh? So here are, 7 Reasons August Is Too Early For The Football Season To Start.

1. Food & Merchandise. In August, the sales of these will just about be non-existent. No one wants a hot-dog or a pie in thirty degree heat. Neither does anyone want to buy a scarf. With clubs fighting for their financial lives at the moment, you’d have thought they’d want to cram December full of fixtures. It’s simple economics.

2. Sir Alex Ferguson. He’s red enough at the best of times. Making him watch football in August is just cruel. Both to him and to viewers of Match Of The Day.

3. Transfer Rumours. With the season starting in August, July will be full of unsubstantiated rumour. Such and such a player was just spotted at the services on the M1. This must mean he’s going off to sign for Manchester United. Yes, or more likely, he’s off visiting his best friend’s wife and needed petrol. And condoms.

4. Too Hot. August is predominantly a hot, sunny month in the UK. Hot, sunny weather affects the way football is played. Either we’ll develop a slower-paced continental game to cope with the conditions or we’ll carry on playing the traditional full-tilt English game and risk killing ginger people. Surely we could just wait for September? That would be the humane thing to do.

5. Rain. As a consequence of being hot and sunny, August is also one of the driest months of the year. At least during the week, when we are at work. At the weekend though, when we have things to do, the rain comes and plans are ruined. Cricket, barbecues, days at the beach. Whatever it is, they are ruined. And quite rightly too. That is what summer is all about. What can’t rain ruin? Football. Logic dictates, therefore, that it’s out of place in August.

6. Weddings. The school holidays run through August, as does the wedding season. And weddings are planned by women who do not care – or possibly even know – that you have something better to do at 3pm on Saturday afternoons in August; something that doesn’t involve dancing around the vol-au-vents. Basically, football ruins what should be the best day of people’s lives because the groom is sulking.

7. The World Cup. It’s just finished. The World Cup Final was on July 11th. And, England won and I still need time to let it sink in/England lost on penalties and I haven’t finished being depressed yet/England went out in the group stage and the sight of a football just makes me angry. (Delete as appropriate). It’s just too soon! I need more time!

September 7, 2010
7 Reasons To Plan Your Picnic Carefully

1. Where Are You Going? If you are off to a day of Polo, you probably don’t want to be taking along some of Lidl’s less-than-finest Scotch Eggs. People will look down on you. Even if they are sitting down themselves. And at the other end of the scale, you probably don’t want to be taking along your Selfridges’ Hamper if you’ve managed to get a ticket for Millwall Football Club’s ‘Grand Day Out In Leeds’.

2. Do You Have Any Suncream? No? Good. No one is going to mistake it for the mayonnaise then.

3. How Much Food Do You Have? This isn’t so much about the number of bags you are taking with you, more the size of the blanket. You don’t want so much food that the only way you can sit down is by playing twister around the sausage rolls. Nor do you want so little food that you wish you’d just brought a flannel instead.

4. Do You, Or Anyone You Know, Suffer From Picnic Envy? It’s always a difficult one this, you are happily munching on a pork pie when you suddenly get a whiff of something quite extraordinary. Either than or you spin round and see someone with a better set of cutlery. It’s enough to ruin the atmosphere. And make you play Frisbee a bit closer to those with the Chicken Cordon Bleu than is strictly necessary.

5. Have You Checked The Weather Forecast? Even if it says it is going to be sunny and thirty degrees, you can be certain that it will rain. A practical solution, therefore, is to take all-weather food and drink. Melon for instance. And water. Sandwiches are a definite no-no and despite what people say, even the sturdiest of celery sticks can go limp in a thunderstorm.

6. Are You Fully Equipped? By this I mean, do you have the bottle opener/corkscrew? The one thing park rangers frown upon is picnickers trying to open a bottle of Cava using irregular practices. Like using the numberplate of their jeep.

7. Are You Going Into A Forest? Bears like food. They like people too.

July 12, 2010
7 Reasons It’ll Be Great Under David & Nick

Yesterday I watched David and Nick in the garden. I don’t know about you, but I kind of liked it. I felt a sense of profound optimism. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I am deluded. Maybe my sense of profound optimism combined with my natural optimism has made me go completely loopy, but I think it might just work. I think it might just be great under Dave and Nick. And here’s why:

1. It’s In The Names. The meaning of David is beloved. The meaning of Nick is victory of the people. That sounds good to me. Incidentally the meaning of Gordon is large fortification. Which probably explains why it took so bloody long to get rid of him.

2. It’s In The Colours. Anyone who went to school and paid attention when they accidentally knocked over the blue and yellow paint bottles, will know that, when combined, they make green*. You know what this means. The environment. David and Nick are going to save us from Global Warming. Caroline Lucas must be furious.

3. It’s In The Hands. As luck would have it, David and Nick seem to favour opposite hands. As the above shows, David likes his right and Nick likes his left. This means of course that they have two spare hands that meet in centre ground. Genius.

4. It’s In The Hair. It may be May, but that means sod all in this country. The weather is still unpredictable/predictably rubbish. As I have pointed out, yesterday David and Nick were in the garden. The sun was out but it was chilly and a tad windy. Miraculously though, for forty minutes, their hair acted superbly. Not once did either of them so much as touch their coiffures. It was the kind of strong, stable hair that this country so badly needs.

5. It’s In The Wives. Neither Samantha or Miriam – that’s Mrs Cameron and Mrs Clegg if you are not on first name terms yet – seem particularly keen on the limelight. Which is good. Because they have a job to do. Run our country. Don’t be fooled, David and Nick don’t really know what they’re doing. And they are married men. Their wives tell them what to do. So for the next five years Great Britain will be run by a creative director and a Spanish lawyer. Mandelson and Campbell, eat your hearts out.

6. It’s In The Looks. It’s quite useful that they are called the cabinet because that is what most of them look like. And so they should. It’s brains you need in politics, not beauty. The last thing we need is for Theresa May to be distracted by a six figure sum to pose naked for Playboy or for Ken Clarke to get his braces off for the centre-fold of Cosmopolitan. Thankfully – for all our sakes – that isn’t going to happen. It’s going to be all work and no play for David and Nick’s boys. And girl.

7. It’s In The Logos. No one in the world has picked up on this yet. But that is why I am me and the rest of you do interesting things with your time. The Conservative logo is a tree. The Liberal Democrat logo is a bird. Birds like trees. It’s where they live. You couldn’t make this stuff up. If this coalition was destined to fail the Liberal Democrat logo would have been an axe. But it’s not. It’s a bird. And David has let it into his foliage. Bravo.

*Yes, if it is pure blue and pure yellow it would turn black, but that’s the point. It’s a coalition. All purity has been thrown out of the window.

NB: I might not believe all of the above nonsense.

May 13, 2010
7 Reasons That The Ash Cloud Is Just Taking The Piss Now

1. Time. The eruption of Eyjafjallajökull was on the 14^th of April and news of the eruption emerged three days later, when newsreaders had finally mastered saying “Eyjafjallajökull”. It’s now the 12^th of May, so that’s almost a month that the cloud’s been menacing Europe for. A month is a long time: It’s a long time in politics; it’s a long time in sport; it’s a long time in Tipperary, and it’s a bloody long time for a cloud of ash to be hanging around, cocking the whole of Europe up. Enough!

The Route Taken By The Ash Cloud

2. Movement. The cloud is just floating about, apparently at random. Its course is seemingly unaffected by the weather and meteorologists can’t predict where it will go to next. I’ve plotted the cloud’s movement over the last few weeks and here’s the result. Just look at it! It’s a doodle. I might as well have commissioned a two year old boy to draw it with a wax crayon, but I didn’t. I did it properly, using Photoshop. The cloud’s making me look like an idiot. And I’m not even married to it.

3. Light. The cloud – when it is between the ground and the sun – apparently blocks out some sunlight. I’m terrified it’s going to turn up near me. I live in Yorkshire and can’t afford to see any less sun; I can already light up a room just by removing my clothes. If I were any paler I’d be a hazard to aircraft – assuming there were any flying, that is. It’s bound to turn up here sooner or later, it’s already been everywhere else. Even Lancashire.

4. Not Dissipating. Three weeks ago, after the cloud passed over the North-West of England, my friend Roger found an ashy residue on his car. We would logically assume that debris from the cloud was dropped on many cars (and on other things), not just his. But the cloud hasn’t shrunk, which means that it’s either capable of self-regeneration, or it’s persecuting Roger. Either way, that’s bad form.

5. Portugal. It’s not just Roger that the cloud’s persecuting. It’s Portugal. I have friends who were stuck there on holiday for an extra week until, finally, the cloud went off to Scotland and they were able to fly back. Another friend was due to fly out to Lisbon this week, but the cloud has decided to go back to Portugal, so he can’t. I don’t know why the cloud is tormenting the Portugese – the French have probably already surrendered to it – but it does seem a little unfair. Perhaps it tasted a glass of Mateus Rose and it’s holding a grudge.

6. The News Agenda. The cloud’s keeping important stories out of the news. I’ve only just found out that there was some sort of election and that we’ve got a new government. Who knew?

7. Air. I’m beginning to suspect that the cloud is sentient – after all, it couldn’t have caused any more chaos if it were conducting a meticulously planned campaign. I’m also beginning to worry that it’s evil. Think about it, the last person that tried to hamper British air efficacy and caused large-scale movement of people around Europe by land was Hitler. We need to act now!

May 12, 2010
7 Reasons Australians Shouldn’t Make Television

1. The Weather. It must be quite easy to present the weather in Australia, it’s always “nice” there, so you probably don’t have to be too bright to do it. That would explain this weatherman being outwitted by a pelican then.

2. Wipeout Australia. In Britain, we have Total Wipeout, a programme in which pudgy, potato-faced middle-managers from Droitwich lumber around a ridiculous assault course. Wipeout Australia uses the same course, except everything is harder and the machines go at about five times the speed. The people they send around don’t seem any leaner or sportier though, that wouldn’t be any fun.

3. Skippy. In Britain in the ’60s, men whistled at attractive young women in mini-skirts. In Australia in the ’60s, they whistled at kangaroos. Still, they seem quite happy.

4. Advert. Halfway through, so it’s time for a break. Would you like one of these? It’s undetectable, you know.

5. Soaps. The bush, mushrooms, a mysterious pig, a flaming hand – it has to be a soap opera. Obvious, really.

6. Marriage. This sort of thing never happened on Richard and Judy.

7. The dream. Okay, you knew it had to turn up somewhere didn’t you? That classic Neighbours dream sequence which came out of left-field and astonished the audience. No, not that one, this one. The accents are spot on, by the way.

Okay, it’s time for an admission. I was wrong. All of this stuff is awful, yet somehow brilliant. I’ve had so much fun putting this post together that I’ve become convinced that Australians should make more television – perhaps even all of it. As long as I don’t have to watch Paul Hogan again I’d be quite happy. I might even buy a hairpiece.

March 2, 2010
7 Reasons to Love The Snow

1. Crime. Snow aids crime detection. Foolish criminals often commit a winter burglary and, when fleeing the scene, leave a handy trail of footprints and tyre-tracks that lead straight to their own homes. The police even catch some of them.

2. Unmask the stupid. It’s easy to discover who the idiots are when it snows. The words essential and necessary are words that are used every winter to describe the sort of car journey you should undertake in snowy conditions. It’s always educational to find out what people, presumably without dictionaries, think that these words mean. Some people think that going to the sales at an out-of-town designer outlet is necessary, some people think that a trip to the cinema is essential, some people think that it’s a good idea to drive out to the countryside to look at the snow. These people make poor decisions behind the wheel too. They can usually be found stuck sideways across the road in a snowdrift causing a large queue of midwives, coastguards, heating engineers and off-licence workers to be stranded. If you want to know if your journey is essential, check here: http://www.ismyjourneyabsolutelynecessary.co.uk/

3. Sledging. The snow proves that we’re better at sledging than the Australians. They’ve never even seen snow. Upon encountering snow most Australians ascertain that it’s wet, very cold and flavourless, and quickly conclude that it’s beer. Australians think that you need a bat and ball to go sledging. Australians are wrong.

4. Japery. You can have a lot of fun in the snow. You can throw snowballs and build a snowman, these activities are fun. Even more fun is building a snowman on the roof of your friend’s car; this is fun and causes annoyance, which is a double win. Even better than that is building a snow penis in your next-door-neighbour’s front garden; this is fun, causes annoyance and great hilarity – not to mention ruddy-faced shouting and gesticulation.

5. Silence. The snow baffles sound, and while there’s snow on the ground, a lot of urban background noise is deadened. There are also fewer cars and people around. When snow has fallen, the world is not just bathed in white powder, it is also bathed in silence – which is something to consider while you’re walking along listening to your iPod or chatting on your mobile.

6. Mystery. When I left the house this morning there was one set of footprints on the front path – mine. When I came back, there were four other sets of footprints on the front path. The only evidence of any visitor was the single letter that the postman had delivered. Who were those extra footprints from? Why was one of them wearing Converse trainers in the snow? What sort of animal has both hooves and claws? Did the man with unfeasibly large shoes with a sensibly-gripped-sole really limp slightly with his left leg? It’s a snow mystery.

7. Beauty. Snow is beautiful; it conceals all eyesores and blemishes leaving everything steeped in an egalitarian white-powdered uniformity. This is great as it makes my horrid front garden, with its weeds and peeling paint, look no worse than the rest of the gardens on my street and, while the snow is here, I can relax and stop worrying that I should do something about it. The only thing that makes my front garden look bad in the snow is the large cock in it. He’s come to complain about the snow-penis I built in his garden. He seems quite cross.

January 7, 2010