The White Stuff

So I've had this long standing love affair with snow. As soon as I've packed away my witches broom and composted the pumpkins at the start of November, I'm dreaming of a White Christmas, romanticising over huge flakes falling past the window (cleaned especially) while I lounge by a roaring fire with a hot toddy, or a Baileys and ice, or eggnog, or anything alcoholic basically. But, I fear that the relationship snow and I have enjoyed for a lifetime, is hitting the rocks. Yep......counselling we most certainly need if we are to continue harmoniously together. My radiators are drying off baseball boots, I marooned my car in a giant pothole, I had no means to then collect the coal for the romantic fire that would make this white stuff bearable, and I have work at 8am tomorrow, and am most certainly not relishing pulling on fleeced and scarfs and wellies at 7:30.
December, dear snow, is ALL good with me, but March? Piss off. Even The Moo, by trade a snow loving dog, thinks this is a bleeding joke, and would very much like to see the sky and a few green leaves