London is blanketed in snow.
I haven’t experienced, seen or touched snow in years. Little needs explaining here: I’m Australian, and snow is a 7-hour drive. Even then you’re only promised thick sludge or a thin veil of off-white sleet, if you’re lucky.
But now, the ‘beast from the east’ (trust the Brits to revert back to Cold War connotations in a snow crisis) has very much enveloped London, and this is the result: a thick, luscious and glistening white carpet has engulfed London, and I couldn’t be happier.
I love proper snow, it has such romantic, whimsical and nostalgic connotations. Real snow has been somewhat of a rarity on the British Isles for neigh on seven years now. There’s no such thing as a ‘White Christmas’, snow day or white winter…until now.
It’s coming into March and London is celebrating the closing of winter with a frosty finale: snow, and lots of it.
Besides, London looks beautiful when masked by a glistening avalanche of pure white substance. It’s let harsh, less gritty, urban and concrete. Now, London is seemingly similar to a Monet painting, a snapshot of its former self from bygone days.
I just wish the Brits, however, would stop moaning and pandering to their worry warts demeanor. No, we don’t all have to ‘get home by 6’ (Evening Standard from page on Monday), nor do we have to ‘stay indoors if you’re south of the river’. It’s snow, not a blizzard and we should all unanimously enjoy it. For, I’ve never seen London so effervescently pretty.