The beautiful white week is coming to an end. Well, I say beautiful, but not everyone saw it that way, there were many people calling the snow ‘terrible’ ‘a nightmare’ ‘horrible.’ A bank cashier said ‘it was all quite novel at first but I’m fed up of it now.’

A few people I met felt the same as me about it; like the man I met at the top of my road who spent fifteen minutes telling me about the eight blissfully happy years he had in number nine, between 1974 and 1982, and how he still comes past to reminisce. He regaled me with tales of open house during the queen’s silver jubilee, and neighbours that wandered in and out of each others houses as snow settled into the folds of our clothes and melted on the ends of our noses.

I felt touched when this man that I’d only just met leaned forward to give me a hug and kiss on the cheek before picking his way slowly with his stick on his journey.

Isn’t life amazing?