White noise

Finally, some snow. It’s about bloody time too!

Here I am, living in the home of the polar bear and Eskimo, sitting on a landmass that’s physically connected to the Arctic and what do I get but jibes from folks back in the UK, gloating because they’ve got more snow than me: so much snow that the schools are closed.

Where is all our snow, Canada? I was promised it when I applied for immigration. I’ve listened to many a precautionary tale of ‘the big dump’ (such an unpoetic description of a winter wonderland, don’t you think). I’ve seen countless Canadian nature programmes where cuddly polar bears cavort down vast banks the stuff. The ski hill has resorted to making its own snow, for Pete’s sake. That’s tantamount to Caribbeans using sun lamps or Egyptians cracking rocks to make sand. And yet, I’m sitting here looking out of my window and while there’s an icing sugar dusting of white, the grass is still poking through!

What’s more, I have a giant snarling beast sitting in my workshop that needs a run out. Bigger than my mother’s car and noisier than the plane I flew to Canada in, my snow blower stood brooding in the dark recesses of the shed until I started it up recently just to see what it did. My workshop now has doorways at either end and my kid’s mortally afraid of the garage monster.

But back to snowy England. I have to admit that the amount of snow required to trigger traffic gridlock, train cancellations and said school closures back in the land of my birth is approximately three inches. No kidding.

Our vehicles, you know the ones, those little lightweight autos that you smile at on the adverts and go “ahh ain’it cute” before stepping outside and clambering up into the cab of your pickup, well they slither and slide out of control at the merest hint of snow. As for winter tyres, I’d never heard of them before moving to Canada. Don’t believe me? Check out the Oxford Dictionary, there’s no mention of them in there and there’s nothing more English than Oxford, right!

Our schools, well they slam shut the gates at the first hint of a flurry for fear little Henry might slip, bang his lip and sue (thanks America). And our trains, oh our trains: they get cancelled in autumn due to leaves on the line, so an inch or two of snow is a signal to shut down the entire rail network, pronto.

But still, I’m getting those calls from smug English friends and you know what, I blame you Canada: you with your wasteful oil extraction from the tar sands; you with your gas guzzling pickup trucks that are larger than many a house in England; you, globally warming everything and sending snow to my homeland. Well, I blame you and the US and India and China and Russia and… Oh hell, there goes my argument.

This rant might sound crazy to you veterans of drift and blizzard, flurry and thaw. And, plenty of you have guffawed at my wide-eyed excitement at the onset of winter but I’m with the snow lovers. I’m looking forward to the snow, just as Hank and his husky chums are. I’m as excited as the crazy folks manufacturing the stuff at Sir Sam’s. I’m at my marks, lined up with the fellows in the ploughing business, waiting for that first real super duvet-thick blanket of white.

And anyway, you hypocrites you bemoaning the wintry weather: as soon as we’ve had the first ‘big dump’, you’ll all be gleefully heading for the garage, backing the super-sized SUV out of the way, squeezing past the ATV, trail bike and power boat to kick starting that snow mobile into life.

You know you like winter really.

PS: It’s a good job Canada extracts oil from tar. What would you all be like if we ran out of gas for your winter toys