We’ve been having the most unseasonably mild winter here in England, so much so that I thought Spring pastels (expect this blog to go even more crazy about gelato pastels than normal come March…) were just a couple of weeks away. Silly me, I’d completely forgotten that the weather in Britain likes to play a game of ‘hard to get’ (just to keep us on our toes) so, I really shouldn’t have been quite so surprised by a mini-blizzard in February.
But when I awoke to the sight of the rooftops of Cambridge tucked beneath a thick blanket of a foot of fluffy snow Sunday morning, I literally bounced out of bed in glee (like a small over-active child). I think I managed to get dressed, pull on my shiny Hunter wellies (that, for all these blue skies, had been sitting rather unloved in my hallway until this point), drag The Clever Boyfriend with me and fly down the stairs and out the door in two minutes flat. And oh! The joy of being the first one to make it to all that pristine fluffy snow before anyone else had awoken to trample in it!
For the next two hours, we managed to throw enough snowballs at each other and build a sparkly snowlady dressed in my jewels (I named her Esmerelda) and every other snow-related cliche that we could muster. The weather bores can say what they like, but having both grown up in Australia (where snow is nothing more than a mythical fantasy), there is still something wonderfully magical and exciting about mornings like this where it feels as though new seasonal traditions can me made. Sometimes it really is life’s most simple pleasures such as these which make for the most wonderful memories.
And the best thing about playing in the snow early on a Sunday morning? Coming in to a cosy house and whipping up a stack of pancakes and steaming mugs of hot chocolate for brunch and then spending the rest of the day tucked indoors with a fresh copy of Vogue. There’s no hibernation quite like Snow Day hibernation!
Love, Miss B xx