The third day is always the hardest. The third day of getting up early, the third day of a diet, the third day back at work. This morning I tick all three boxes. It is 6 o’clock and the alarm clock is ringing. I have to drag myself out of bed as it’s my turn to get up first. I peer through the curtains to see everything covered in snow. It’s still dark but I can see that it is still snowing by the light of the street lamp. Usually I can tell when it’s snowed before I even get out of bed. Something about the light and the way that everything is still and muted. Calm even.

I love the snow. It blurs the edges and things look new and slightly dream-like, as though you’re looking at them from down a camera lens or from a distance. And of course everything grinds to a halt and I like that too. It slows you down and makes you realise that there are other things to think about other than the everyday routine.

When my sister and I were younger we’d race home from school, grab hats, scarves, gloves and wellies and head for The Gollies*. All the kids would be there with sledges, plastic bags and those wood and metal toboggans that you don’t see so much anymore. My sledge was red, plastic and fast. We’d climb up hills and shoot down the other side, laughing and screaming. We even named the hills, seeking out higher and more daring slopes – ‘Steepy’ and ‘Devil’s Dip’. And finally, when our clothes were wet and stiff with ice and our fingers and toes stung, we’d go back home, stamping our wellies on the step to dislodge the snow. Scarves and gloves would be discarded on radiators while we drank hot tea in the living room.

I hope it snows again today, so that we can go for a walk after work. I like to hear the creak of soft snow when I step on to it. Snow has a smell too, have you noticed? I guess the sledge will remain at home though.

Pictures: View from the Back Door at 6.30am, Tori’s Paw Prints

* The Gollies -Whitefield Golf Course, at the back of our house.