As I snuzzle on the sofa...

under the

John Lewis,

pretend brown bear skin 

from deepest, outerest, outer Mongolia.

Clad in fanny coloured pink

Sloppy Joe hoodie,

with great excitement I await the snow.

Provisions are quite properly laid on;

not forgetting of course the layers of blubber laid down

over the intervening months;

in readiness for just such an occasion as this.

Peeping out from under the many and various layers,

woman-made and synthetic, I spy the first fat flake.

 'Look!'  

My cry only slightly muffled by the

Pisa towers of high calorific supplies that quite rightly
inhabit the soon to be, Arctic tundra.

From out of the king's chair opposite

the man raises his regal head.

'It's started!'

One fat snowflake does not a blizzard make.

Alright it was followed by two weedy-looking relations...

'We're off!'

Piss-poor I make it...

hard on its heels came...

thin, mean and very lower working class...

drizzle.

'Pop upstairs will you my ole metrological matey

and get an up to date weather cheque!'

Talk amongst yourselves while he's gone.

Tripping the light fantastic, down he came, looking for all the world like

beau brummell of the met office.

'No snow, sun forcast for tomorrow!'

'Wot?  You sure you didn't look on the tabloid

page 3, silicon implants, false smiles and botox

in the valleys, weather page i.e ITV?'

'No... It was definitely the beeb!'

'Please  (Weedling tone now adopted)

can you find one that suits and report back?'

In the meantime, even the bleeding rain has stopped!