snowstorm

I have never seen a city so excited about snow.

To be fair, it's the biggest snowfall England has seen in 18 years, or so they're saying. Train service was shut down, buses were pulled off the roads, school was cancelled. One English friend told me he hadn't made a snowman since 1990 as we rolled snow and stones together on the beach into a lopsided snow-woman. Yet it's quite funny that London's in such a tizzy over an amount of snow that'd be laughable in Michigan or Massachusetts.

Still, I've fully embraced the excitement. My experience of this snowstorm is coloured by the fact that I celebrated my first snowfall of the season last night with two Brazilians who were seeing the first snow of their lives. I was washing dishes when Kaoru’s laughing flooded out from the darkened second kitchen. “Look!” I rushed to the window: two grown men gleefully packing snowballs. “Come on!” I cried. “Hurry!” and laughing, we spiralled up the staircase to grab our coats and cameras. Last night, there was a mere centimetre or two of snow, and still we danced in the streets, laid down in the crystals and made a knee-high snowman.

And this morning, it was real snow. Proper snow, turning the trees to enchanted trees and silencing the city. A group of us met at the seafront at noon and, fortified with sticky-sweet donuts, began a sporadic snowball fight that would last for two hours. After defending our lopsided snowman from unkind comments, I walked to the Brighton pier and looked out over the beach, towards the marina. I smiled at the sight of at least two dozen snowmen spaced out along the beach. The snow was still falling, the streets were full of mush and the bus service was still spotty, but Brighton was out in full force.

It may be what I love most about England: people are always outside. Doesn't matter the month or the temperature or even the rain. In mid-January, as the temperature hovers around zero, the seaside cafés are open, people are sitting at tables sipping coffee, and the beach walks are packed with strolling couples, joggers and waddling children. The racks at school are still packed with commuter bikes so you can't even find a spot.

Everyone sympathised with me before I came, moving to a rainy cold island, and now that I'm here they often ask, "How's the weather?" as though expressing sympathy for a nagging health problem. Perhaps it's because of my low expectations that I've been pleasantly surprised. Earlier this month I went hiking for the afternoon, remarking how pleasant the weather was as I strolled through fields of sheep. Am I turning into a Brit?

Nah. My snowman-making skills were infinitely superior.