Choosing a photo for the third week of January, and the first of term, was not difficult. I think this is definitely one of those situations where a picture says a thousand words (is that the expression?)
I love snow to the moon and back, just as you’d expect an enthusiastic 6-year-old Scottish German who was amputated from the Alps and brought to conventionally paradisaic Florida where the snow is made of deep-frozen chemicals and newspaper shreds to do.
Not that you have to be a child of the mountains to love snow! The students of Oxford came alive last Friday morning when we awoke to a city clad in powdered virginal silks. Festooned with scarves and gloves, ski jackets and snow-boots (or, for the more profoundly English, a pair of Hunters), we made our way into the centre. Bedraggled and mummified on foot, or tentatively reckless on bike, a procession of people skidded and tripped and trudged along feeling simultaneously blessed and inconvenienced. Good-natured grumps watched over-excited and rather anticlimactic snowball fights (not enough snow to built up a respectable artillery) between their classmates, while others sat behind panes of century-old glass with a hot chocolate and a dash of rum and admired the majesty of Oxford in the snow
Well, I tried to paint a picture with words, didn’t I? A bit twee and contrived to be sure, but perhaps some photos of my friend Ed and I frolicking in the snow (yes, we literally frolicked) will do a better job than I: