SNOW!

You know that white cack that falls out of the sky sometimes?


No, not bird doodoo, the other stuff, that comes out of those other, fluffy, ominous sky hangers. Yeah, you got it SNOW. Now, some people I know are desperate for it to snow, They think that it is just effin' fantastic, because it can stop them from going to work and breaks up the monotony of getting a constant work grinding.


I, on the other hand (which is covered in a top-class techno-top goretex glove, which cost me a shed-load of wonga), I am less enthusiastic. "Hey, you grouchy cokesupper!" you might shout at me across a busy street, for not liking the White Death, but this isn't the case. I like throwing balls made of the mushy crud, and sliding down hills on an old shower curtain on it as much as any toddler, but when it comes to riding my bike on it, I want to fubb it's shit up.


You see, when it drifts, ever so gently, down from the sky, the first place it settles on is the canal path. It is also the last place it will cling onto well after the rest of it has turned into brown slush puppys in the gutters. When this happens, the path turns from something quite lovely and safe to a wild place, full of primeval horror and ancient fears. Bands of starving Crusty Juggling Canal People maraud through the misty drifts with impunity, their enormous packs of snarling dogs desperately snatching meat where they can.

In snow no one can hear you scream. Well, they can, but no one gives a crap.

Trying to ride your futuristic two-wheeled space-age transport thing on snow is an acquired taste, and I've fallen off more times than I can remember now (due to head injuries), so I am not looking forward as many others to this impending wave of white and icy man-traps.


Going on the road is a total no-no. Last time I tried that my gears froze in first gear, and although I was very good at going up the shiny slopes, the 15 mile tail back of very patient and polite drivers got a bit testy when I could only do about 8 miles and hour on the flat. This led to me being encouraged  out of the clear salted strip of road and into the soft welcoming sludge at the side of it. As I lay there with the soft flakes falling onto my bewildered face, starting to bury me, all I could think of was, "I hope when I am found come spring time, and they try and straighten my frozen corpse, they don't accidentally snap my cock off."