Let it snow, let it snow.

Let it snow, let it snow.

There is a hint of snow in the air. The sharp blasts of cold weather are drifting in from the Arctic or Antarctic or indeed wherever cold weather comes from nowadays. Here, in Britain we can never be quite prepared for freezing temperatures, biting winds or anything that remotely resembles the winter climate.

 We're more or less or conditioned and resigned to summer weather because everybody knows what happens then or maybe we'll be pleasantly surprised. Oh who cares. I don't care what the weatherman is saying you'll never hear me complaining. Bring on some Gene Kelly singing in the rain and let the hailstones fall like golf balls. It's almost Chanukah and Christmas shortly and this is time to be jolly and deck the halls with holly.  Jolly dee. I can't wait.

 If that jovial man with the red coat and white beard arrives without at least the complete works of every book written in the history of literature I'll be most disappointed and just a tad upset. On second thoughts pour me a glass of lime cordial, present me with a mince pie and let me partake of several slices of festive turkey. Christmas seems to get earlier and earlier. In the West End department stores the rumour is that Christmas started on the hottest day of July and it may be assumed that Harrods opened up their Christmas grotto sometime in May just after the Bank Holiday.

Still, the weather centre in London has forecast a cake sprinkling of snow on Sunday. In some parts of Britain the snow has already fallen in soft coatings on the hills. Deep in the Pennines people woke to pavements resembling birthday cakes and birds sneezing almost uncontrollably. Snow, as we know, evokes a whole variety of emotions in all of us. Some of us love it, children can never get enough of it and the rest of the nation curses it because in most cases it's sufficiently disruptive and above all it makes any kind of journey almost physically impossible.

If it snows persistently and heavily we may have to batten down the hatches and just keep warm for the rest of winter. If it means we have to set out for work or school at two o'clock in the morning then these are obvious grounds for complaint. But what else to do under the circumstances? We could always stay at home, build a snowman in the garden, throw snow balls joyously at each other and just rub our heads together with the broadest smile on our faces.

There are always emergency or contingency measures if the snow really does fall in huge quantities. Your heart always goes out to those poor villagers in the country who are more or less stranded and trapped in their cosy cottages. There is nowhere to go, the back roads are impassable and every pavement is  clogged with thick clumps of the white stuff. The pavements will undoubtedly become icy and slippery and shopping expeditions are completely out of the question. It could turn into a nightmare but the British are battle hardened, resilient and refuse to give into the elements.

Sadly though, snow has been the rarest of sights in Britain. I can't think of a recent winter when gallons of snow would swirl around the air and plop onto the ground with considerable force. Admittedly it can be the most dreadful nuisance and inconvenience when the car won't start and the buses are utterly non existent. So then we have to just grit our teeth and knuckle down to the task in hand very resourcefully.

The memory goes back to the mid 1980s when snow seemed to be dumped down onto the ground from a great height, settling on the roads and pavements and then carpeting the whole of Ilford, Gants Hill and Redbridge. Walking became an almost military operation and I can still remember clomping down snow clogged roads, then wading through immense blocks of snow with painstaking care.

Every day during that long and hard winter we pulled up our coat collars firmly, wrapped more and more scarves around our necks and shivered sometimes uncomfortably. The winds seemed to get wilder and colder with every minute and I must have felt like some intrepid explorer or some very ambitious soul tackling a white Swiss skiing resort  By the end of my journey my feet felt like those ice cubes you normally use at summer barbecues for the Pimms.

The one winter when the snows of Britain really did leave us with serious repercussions was my first year on Planet Earth. In the winter of 1962 the snows arrived just before Christmas and remained with us until early April. My parents frequently tell me of their obvious sense of confinement in the face of a winter where it snowed and kept snowing and didn't know when to stop.

My mum, somewhat amusingly, tells the story of how she did try to venture out for a spot of shopping and promptly forgot all about me as she turned back for home without me. Oh the sense of desertion and isolation as this red-cheeked baby cried prodigiously for all his worth. There was a happy ever after ending though to this tale as mum suddenly recognises that her first son is not where he should have been. Needless to say I have forgiven my mum for that very brief moment of absent mindedness but that momentary alienation from society may have been understandable given the severity of that winter. Mum, it wasn't your fault.

Still, the rest of the 1960s seemed to be relatively snow free to the best of anyone's recollection and the 1970s were simply wet, foggy, rain soaked and generally dark. I can recall some very sharp and bitterly cold winters but the snow seemed to keep away from Ilford. The early school morning excursions were just very chilly and shudderingly shivery. We did though survive against the most daunting of elements as rain slanted piercingly into our deeply exposed faces.

So it is that we now face that crucial weekend with a fortnight to go before ding dong merrily on high resounds through the neighbourhoods and the dogs become hilariously tangled up in festive knots of glitter and tinsel. Once again neighbouring windows here in Manor House are beginning to look as if Christmas can't come quickly enough. Some of them seem to be decorated with the same decorations as last year. There are the yearly sleighs, the cute ice blue light bulbs and of course dear old Santa in varying shades of red and, for those who cherish the Victorian age, green Santas.

Me? Well I've no objections to the snow at all. In fact it is pretty and picturesque with all its connotations of Christmas. How we love those warm and snug fireplaces with mantelpieces groaning with Christmas cards, a fine, upstanding tree from Homebase and well wrapped presents nestling next to the tree. Throw another log onto the crackling fire and mine's a well chilled wine please.

The snow of course is specifically designed for the children because essentially this is their favourite time of the year. And if that means you have to spend the best part of Christmas sticking a twig on the snowman's face and planting some very effective eyes on its forehead then it can't be bad at all. Then the whole family tuck into their turkey, sprouts and pud before racing out of the front door afterwards and heading for your local park where the kids can just let off steam, rolling about on snow patterned grass and jumping around with perfect freedom.

Yes indeed snow is something to be looked forward to in great anticipation rather than dreaded. Who can possibly resist the temptation to gaze out of the window at white grass, white hedges, white fences and white trees, white sheets of snow and more snow glittering and glistening in that timeless fashion.

I'm reminded of one of my favourite Christmas songs. Chris Rea's 'Driving Home for Christmas' is quite the most delightful and attractive Christmas ditties of all. The You Tube video featuring a car's windscreen wipers caked in ice and snow and driving down a remote country lane is simply the best. But to quote another festive offering. Let it snow let it snow. Or perhaps you'd rather it not snow in which case let's have some incessant winter sunshine. Personally, I'm looking forward to my first Chanukah doughnut with just one mince pie to be going on with.