Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Let it snow, let it snow.

So here it is again. For the first time in what seems like decades but in truth now seems only a week or so ago, the weather forecasters have got it absolutely right again. Yes folks, it's that old chestnut again. The weather has done it again. It's finally succeeded in temporarily shunting to the sidelines that wearisome issue known as Brexit, the interminable chatter about a political hot potato that continues to divide and sharply polarise opinion in Britain.

Ladies and Gentlemen snow has fallen across the green and pleasant land of Great Britain and, as usual, we've been caught on the hop yet again. In the last couple of years or so Britain became very smug and blase about its winter weather. It was exceptionally mild, never so much as remotely cold at any point and apart from several blustery winds, a number of heavy rain showers and a few disturbing claps of thunder, last winter was almost sub tropically hot in dear old Blighty.

In fact there were a number of hardy souls who took their life in their hands and decided to take time off for a gentle spot of sunbathing. They bravely pulled on a beach shirt, slapped on Sun Factor 55 and then relaxed on a hotel balcony in Torquay before sipping a pina colada by the pool. But such are the vagaries of the English climate that it wasn't long before we were all shivering in the frozen wastes of Winter 2018.

This morning Britain woke up to another thick blanket of white snow that, certainly here in London, hadn't quite arrived in the huge quantities that had left most of the country in a state of crisis and emergency. Yesterday snow dropped out of the battleship grey sky with a rare intensity and frequency while only days before London, and here in Manor House, we thought we'd escaped the white stuff. There was a liberal sprinkling of snowflakes that swirled around in the air reluctantly but nothing to disturb the level headed equilibrium of every British citizen.

But then the reality set in with a vengeance. It hadn't really snowed properly in London or Britain for ages so we were totally unprepared for and unaccustomed to it. So it was business as usual. The whole infrastructure fell apart in a matter of minutes. The trains seemed to grind to a standstill and we all began to look around at each other in a kind of baffled amusement. What to do next? And yet the snow kept falling and falling, an eerie silence descending across the streets and roads of the nation and outside on the pavements of Manor House one or two of us gingerly stumbled across a mass of snow, slush and what will now turn into ice quite shortly.

You looked across the snow festooned rooftops of the building opposite us and then knew that inevitably the major topic of conversation in most offices and shops across the land would be the weather. No change there then. This has almost become deeply hard wired into the British psyche, a subject that grips us like a vice and refuses to let go until the last snowflakes have drifted languidly into a distant land far away from these shores.

According to your point of view the snow can often be either an annoying irritation or just the most wonderful occurrence. It may be hard to believe but we're now on the first day of March and the gentle intimations of Spring should be everywhere. Regrettably this is not the case and this entirely unexpected snowfall may be regarded as freakish.

Apparently the source of this latest meteorological rarity can be traced to Siberia and Russia, whose citizens treat snow rather like a familiar old friend. The Beast From The East and Storm Emma have combined forces for the first time and brought us nothing but slippery roads, dogs wearing the thickest of coats and a list of grievances about the inordinate length of time the snow has been with us.

It is, if you were to believe those who have seen it all before, the worst winter on record. It's been an utter calamity and we haven't seen a winter quite like this for many a year. And yet how we seem to lose our perspective ever so slightly because up until recently, it's been dry, mild, slightly nippy in the early part of the morning but when all is said and done, remarkably pleasant.

But gradually as the weather showed obvious signs of deterioration and everything went downhill, the grumbles grew louder and suddenly the power went down, things began to get terribly clogged up in the electrical system and in the arable farmlands of the British country, there was a very real sense of isolation and forlornness.

Deep in the heart of England's sleepiest villages, the local butchers, bakers and post offices are throwing their hands up in collective horror at the terrible impact the snow may be having on their businesses. There are the obvious concerns over profit margins, revenue streams and the sense of real urgency that has suddenly gripped the country. The shelves have now emptied, the immediate result of panic buying and Mr and Mrs Smith's newsagents has never been quieter.

Yesterday London woke up to its very own white winter wonderland just when they must have felt that they'd got away with it all. Train platforms were completely taken over with shivering commuters, waiting and waiting patiently, slowly losing patience with the inefficiencies of the local authorities, the pitiful inadequacies of the gritters and the sheer ineptitude of those who earn their living on  railway stations such as Euston and Paddington. They look at the huge time table electronic boards, check their watches and then sigh with a gut wrenching exasperation. The 09.50 train from Euston will now leave at 4.30 in the afternoon. Aargh!!!

The weather forecasters have, as usual, have kept us well informed about the latest developments in the world of weather. The experts believe the snow may begin to subside and by next week we can all look back on these bone chilling days with very few regrets. Rest assured the whole of Britain will be like the Chelsea Flower Show come several months early. The tulips will be singing and dancing, crocuses flaunting their peacock colours, snowdrops putting on the style and the daffodils performing their yearly spring waltz in perfect accord with nature.

In a couple of weeks ago the horse racing fraternity will be bracing itself for the annual Cheltenham Festival where talented Irish jockeys will be cleaning up with victory after victory and their trainers will be showing their gratitude to everybody from County Antrim to Dublin. I have it on good authority that spring is getting ready for its yearly picturesque paradise. It just seems at the moment that spring has been permanently cancelled or maybe postponed for a while. What a confounded nuisance.

Meanwhile British schoolchildren are delighting in the knowledge that, on the understandable grounds of health and safety there's no school and it's time to slide across snow coated parklands on their trusty sledges. Oh how they've longed for days like this. If only every day could be like this. What freedom. Life simply couldn't get any better. Then they build their lovable snowmen and naturally throw snowballs at each other, something they've been doing since time immemorial.

The chances are though that by Monday morning the white snowy acres will be a thing of the past. It's at times like this when you begin to look at those countries for whom snow is  just a way of life. Do we think that Switzerland, Russia, Austria and the Scandinavian countries ever get hot and bothered about a couple of inches of snow? They know exactly how to deal with the snow because they get tons of the stuff every year and besides it'll go and it is just a temporary measure. We may be in a state of critical alarm at the moment but fear not spring will undoubtedly beckon from the sweetest meadow and that's a fact. Mark my words.

Of course it's freezing at the moment and it may get colder but it simply can't last. Shortly our ears will be subjected to the heaving and groaning cacophony that is the University Boat Race, as ambitious rowers attack the River Thames with all their might and worth. Then the cavalry charge that is the Grand National at Aintree will welcome in the new season as if it had never been anywhere else.

For the time being we can only look out of our windows, smile fulsomely at the white wonder land and pretend it's the happiest time of the year. We switch on the central heating, throw extra logs onto the fireplace and sip a hot toddy or two in our local refreshment bar. All is not lost or bleakness because inside there's a warm optimism that keeps growing and will reach its peak by the early part of April if not shortly before the end of March.

 Until then everybody keep warm, stay safe and remember something important. Donald Trump is still the President of the United States. See, I told you. Things will get better and things will improve. We have to remain positive.