The British obsession with snow is wearyingly amusing. Each time the same frenzied anticipation, the countdown. Boots patiently waiting, scarves and gloves at the ready. Up until that morning when you awake to find a starker, cleaner light falling though your window and before even emerging from the warm duvet, you just know it’s happened. The sound of cars less frequent; those that you do hear sounding vaguely slushy as they pass by slower than usual.
A snow day in Britain is a great day. It creates the same sense of togetherness and shared excitement as a festival or even Christmas. Unlike the stomach-turning coalition claim, we genuinely are all in it together. Apart from the people that have to work, that is. Only once in 5 years of working in North London and commuting from Kent, have I been totally unable to get into work due to the snow. That glorious day when London did a 28 Days Later and almost stopped to draw breath for once exquisite moment. No such luck this year. Although the snow is beautiful when you can play in it and stare at it from the toasty other side of a double-glazed window, it becomes somewhat of a nuisance when having to trek through it on a pitch-black 6.30am morning en route to the train station.
Thankfully, this day was not one of those days. Having time to explore and enjoy the beauty of the falling snow I took these shots. Living in generally a very grey country certainly makes everything look ultra beautiful when blanketed in piercing white.