Tiny, tiny snow

Snow at Stepney City Farm
I am in an entirely snow-free Folkestone, waiting to see teachers at my daughter’s school. I’m also trying with little success to use a Mac for the first time. That is me you can hearing swearing.

I have spent ages trying to make the link above into a picture: now it will have to be done post-deadline to keep my self-competetive streak going.

So this will be brief: like the East London snow. I love snow and would be happy to have four months of it every winter. I look on in envy at family in Sweden with their school skiing lessons, deep perfect white billows of snow, triple glazing and unfazed infrastructure.

Children there are outside playing, learning and living: somehow safe from the terrifying hazards that await anyone who has managed to get anywhere here. One of my happiest memories is being met by one of my half-brothers with a pulka -small sledge – being pulled by his large dog, ready to transport my delighted child.

A school just minutes away from the Farm cancelled a visit on Tuesday. I think we had fully five cm of snow in places. I sit there in an unheated building, unable to move for layers of clothing that make little difference. Then home, to the cold howling through gaps in Victorian sash windows, throwing another firelog from Sainsbury’s on the tiny hearth and persuading a recalcitrant cat to act as an extra hot water bottle.

London isn’t designed for snow. It’s only moments before the white perfection that hides the litter and spit on the street morphs into dirty slush. That unmistakable cruchyesque feeling underfoot is fleeting and maybe all the more precious for that.

One of the loveliest things to come out of the flurry was this post on East London Snowmen by the Gentle Author at the always wonderful Spitalfields Life blog. Treat yourselves to a daily read, whatever the weather.