Saturday: Apparently it snowed this weekend, just a wee bit, nothing to get over excited about. I live with three grown men who teach for a living. They are serious people with responsible jobs, but a little bit of snow and they were reduced to dancing around the house at 6am, declaring it “the greatest day of their lives”. Suffice to say I went to work and am slightly bitter they spent all day playing in the snow. Rain.

Sunday: In the evening, we all went for a little jaunt down to the pub and, once again, all ideas of sense and normal behaviour were swiftly thrown out of the window. We ran along the streets on opposite sides to each other, ducking behind cars, leaping out from behind a tree and generally behaving in a way that would look a little odd in any other circumstances. Isn’t snow great? Rain and snow.

Next week: Of course there was one casualty. My mate Jimmy completely stacked it while chasing someone down the road. As he went down, there was a brief moment when people showed concern, as you should for people falling, but that was soon wiped away with a barrage of snowballs pelted at poor old Jim. The papers say something similar happened to Lily Allen, so he’s in good company. Windy.