- 'snow place like London -

The agony of what was perhaps the coldest day in London this academic year was alleviated in no small part by the sweet glory of snowfall - 3 times, no less.

Amid the cacophony in the streets, it was impossible to distinguish the lewd curses of disgruntled drivers and incoherent rants of the dishevelled pavement-warmers (read: those chaps with shaggy beards who could do us all a favour by reacquainting themselves with a showerhead. or a hose.) from the whoops of unbridled joy by embarrassingly ignorant yet endearingly enthusiastic Asian masses.

And while the locals were running for cover or whipping out the brollies, I was running head-on into those glorious white sheets, and settling tremulously in the open, giddy with (albeit puerile) excitement. Something tells me that to my discomfiture I'll find myself in the papers tomorrow above the caption "Mad Chinaman in mid-pirouette", but there isn't much I could care less about.

I know, I know, I almost sound as if I didn't see snow for the first time when I was 8, or again 4, 8, 9 and 11 years later. But I appreciate the little things these days. It comes with being in London. The harshness of the elements was further ameliorated first with the news that the relative Davids of Newcastle slew Goliathian Chelsea, and later when my food was retrieved from Victor's. Hopefully enough the food isn't as overdue as this action was.

And so before you judge me, O Pagans, you were young once.