Snowdrops on lashes

My writing schedule works on one simple basis. I can get all the work I need to done on time as long as ABSOLUTELY nothing happens. This includes no illnesses, no power cuts, no Internet interference, no car break downs, no impulse trips to the shops to buy spam because for the first time since 1978 i fancy spam (the canned spiced ham, younger readers, not the nuisance electronic mail), no unexpected and lengthy phone calls from beloved but verbose friends who like to tell you long stories about people you don’t know and finally and most importantly NO SNOW.

Monday morning 7a.m wake to find world carpeted in a glittering garland of snow. 7.15 Lily my seven year old little girl wakes up.
‘Look out of the window!’ I whisper, all agog.
‘Oh yeah, snow,’ she says decidedly unimpressed, which is a symptom of her going on her first skiing holiday with her dad over Christmas. It appears that a seven year old can experience a surfeit of snow.
‘I means your school will probably be shut,’ I tell her.
‘Does that mean I can watch telly all day?’
‘I know, lets build a snowman!’
‘Can I have a packet of skips.’
It’s 7.30 in the morning you can’t have a packet of skips.’
‘Then why are you even thinking of building a snowman?’

And so it goes on. Anyway a couple of hours later and suitably girded, Lily in her skiing all in one suit (more of that later) me in a pair of leaky boots and a sheepskin coat that an eighties premiership manager would have rejected.
‘Let’s make a really big snowman,’ Lily says enthusiastically.
‘Yay, lets!’ I am prepared for a mother/daughter magic moment.
‘You make it, I’ll watch.
Lily does not watch. Lily rolls around in the snow. I am quite charmed by her rolling around in the snow so forgive her for abandoning the snowman project before its even begun. However it soon becomes apparent that under the lovely fresh snow she was rolling around was a message. A message left by a particularly large dog. (NOT mine. I am a responsible owner)
Gingerly we go in. Have you ever tried to peel an all in one ski suit plastered with poo off of a near hysterical child. You must try it. It’s a blast.
So we had an extra day together and it was lovely, poo aside. And we had Tuesday (Lovely) and now Thursday (LOVELY) and it looks like probably Friday too. And I love her being at home. She is a great laugh, she’s funny and smart and great company. She’s not that keen on my working though when she’s around and neither am I. I’m so busy most of the time that when she is here I want to be with her. So my precariously balanced schedule slips back a week.
Not to mention my lack of wardrobe. I have a small house. My house is so small that literally the whole thing would fit in the hallway of my friends house (Think flashy new build faux Georgian, fake pillared, gated community stoke broker pile). I’m short of storage so reluctantly I decided to sell my lovely Edwardian oak wardrobe and get a fitted one from Sharpe’s. For two weeks now my clothes have been piled up on my tiny office floor waiting for the new roomy wardrobes to come. I have been writing (or not) amid a cacophony of frocks, a confection of underwear, a hails of hats and a pile of shoes that nearly reaches the ceiling. (My house is small but there is always room for shoes.) Today was D day. Today my super dooper new wardrobes were due to be fitted but they did not come. Why?


I am so over snow.