Ms Scruffybadger asked whether I could really tire of "real" snow.
Believe me, the novelty is wearing off!
It is the sheer physical effort required to perform the simplest task.
There can be no "popping out to the shop" when first you have to trudge 300 yards down a track which is 18 inches deep in the white stuff, so sneaks over the top of your wellies and leaves you with cold, wet feet. Then dig out the car, sand the road-end, only to give up as you slide inelegantly across the single-track into the neighbouring field because the snow plough has not been near your unclassified road for 5 days.
Collecting logs for the fire involves clearing a foot of snow from the tarpaulin that covers the woodpile, then chipping the logs apart, because of course they have frozen into one solid lump.
But is it beautiful?
Um... yes. Actually it is rather lovely!
Which is probably not the word to describe the hat I have knitted for FL's Christmas.
"Mad" is quite a good word.
As you can see, it is blinking HUGE and rather too lacey.
I am going to felt the be-jinkies out of it tonight with the hot wash.
Now there's another impossible task: washing! How on earth do I dry the washing when the line is frozen stiff?