Dear Early London Snow,

It is a fact that 35% of all conversation in Britain is in some way related to the weather and also that 46% of Britons believe that only they even have weather. Our first statistic is an annual average, however these rates are higher at certain times peaking during the change of seasons between Autumn and Winter, which this year has been an affair more unpleasant than even Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’s.

A popular urban myth says that Eskimos have almost 300 words for snow. Well I’ve got another word for snow and it starts with a C. You decided to grace us with your presence this year in November, not even having the decency to wait until the official start of the winter.

Unlike Marmite, you are not best spread thinly, however this is exactly what you choose to do. If you are going to disrupt our lives, please, do it properly. We want at least 9 inches. Of fluffy whiteness. What were you thinking? I want to be able to make snowmen and ride toboggans with scarves waving regally behind us. We want to make snowballs big enough to take down a bull elephant. Instead you, glorified form of rain, take a wishy-washy approach which seems milder to the untrained eye but is actually far more sinister.

First, smatterings of snow - pretty, large flakes that fall and cause ladies to sigh, then promptly melt. The snow flakes, not the ladies. These flakes are harmless except for their ability to burn on direct contact with the eyeball surface and that’s not (aqueous-ly) humourous at all. Anyway, the meltedness is walked on by countless feet only to freeze when temperatures drop overnight turning London to a sprawling, filthy ice-rink. I can only infer your aim is to injure all the pedestrians of London, one by one, as they dance violently and then fall like skittles, as if hit by invisible dodgem cars. I call this Snow Sniping. Now, I like watching people fall over as much as the next person, probably more. Sadly though, when one knows one could be the next slip victim and subject of sadistic laughter and anxiety lurks in the wings one does not experience the usual level of mirth.

Your impact on transport and the ability of people to use their cars can also be significantly damaging to the workplaces of London and the economy. Do you wish to make us all poorer than we already are? Slaving in our mineshafts and offices for minimum wage, selling our children and mothers for pork scratchings? I suppose you have some twisted neo-Dickensian vision of London where we venture out on icy streets in our best rags, falling about the place trying to find the last surviving blades of grass under the frost to feed ourselves and our many open-mouthed children we haven’t yet sold?

So unseasonable, Early London snow, I hurl this anti-freeze gauntlet at you and I strongly recommend that you do not return lest I join forces with my friend Kettle to take you down, one frozen flake at a time starting with the patch that made an attempt on my life, or at least my spinal column last year. Die. (and I don’t mean “the” in German).

Kyrani