Snow joke

Getting ready for Christmas is always fun.

As the bookies slash their odds for a white Christmas, and our Christmas tree lights have twinkled brightly (much to Mummy's annoyance - she's a bit of a Christmas killjoy) for over a week now, the snow has been falling heavily over Bedfordshire.

We awoke on Thursday morning to see our back garden carpeted by about 10cm of the white stuff.

For some strange reason, Mummy had been rather dubious about the prospect of heavy snow the night before.

Even though the BBC were reporting a "severe" weather warning for heavy snow in the South East and Eastern regions on Wednesday evening, Mummy didn't feel we'd get much, if any. I couldn't quite get to the root cause of her suspicions. She just thought it was some kind of conspiracy concocted in deepest Lapland.

By about 9.30pm, the snow was coming down in thick bunches blown by a pretty fierce north-easterly wind. A small drift had already gathered around the wheels on one side of our car.

The next day, a thick white blanket was upon us. Everywhere.

Ben was wise to it in no time and wanted to be taken outside in it. So we did. We waited until late afternoon though. We waited until another heavy snowfall had finished and then took him out, leaving Ciaran perched in his high chair in the conservatory.

I began by teaching Ben how to make a snowball.

He'd mastered it in no time, even though he was gloveless (aren't we nice?). What he didn't need tuition with was throwing the darn things. I had barely moved back from his snowball lession when my shoe was pelted. I can live with that. Shoe hits are okay. It's the ones in the face I don't like.

I then said, "Hey Ben, look, why don't you kick the snow like this". He then happily became a little snow plough and meandered slowly around most of the back garden shifting the snow with his feet.

Meanwhile, Mummy and Daddy became kids and started targeting random garden objects and ornaments for aiming practice.

I pelted our bathroom, living room and conservatory windows several times each, I then turned my attentions to trying to draw a face on the garden shed by hitting it from 10 feet. It almost looked right. Mummy tried to help me. Unfortunately, she couldn't hit the garden shed from 10 feet.

Ben soon complained of wet feet and that was our cue to take him back inside.

Goodness knows what young Ciaran made of all this. Ben certainly liked it.

Maybe we'll make a snowman next time. There's plenty of winter to come yet, and if anything, the biggest falls over the last few years have come in late January and early February.

Who knows. By then, it may be time to take Ben to the infamous Ampthill Hill for a sledging session!

I think we better get Ben a sledge quick. And a pair of gloves.