Monday, April 7, 2008


White flakes, spots and dollops floating falling from the sky, waking up to a white world of muffled optimism and unbridled happiness, the sheer excitement that this substance so close yet so far from rain can bring is quite astounding.

But totally justified.

I woke up to my window being bombarded with snowballs by my friend. Assuming it wasn't my Romeo attempting to woo me, I rolled over and tutted at the youth of today attacking my window. Then it slowly dawned that maybe, just maybe, it was one of those magical days. I ran downstairs and, sure enough, there it was...


The place to be when it snows in Oxford is undoubtedly South Park. It's got a hint of a hill where I spent a happy hour or so sliding on tea trays, bin bags recycling box lids, gazing with envy at the cool dudes surfing past on body boards and a little girl having a tantrum with her giant snowball for no apparent reason.
Aside from the frolics of South Park, Oxford looked really pretty. Gargoyles in the High Street with snow caps on, trees lining Cheney Lane frosted with sugary powder, and I remember the quieter beauty of Port Meadow from last year, with the frozen floodwater and horses galloping across the frozen turf.

On a slightly less poetic note, above is my snowman. Well, snowqueen. She made it about half a mile down the road before tragically ending it all beneath the wheels of the car. RIP.

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