OH, the weather gods have spoken! Winter is coming! Time to break out the novelty mittens and prepare for a winter wonderland that never was. Because in this glorious land of eternal drizzle, snow forecasts are as reliable as a politician's promises.

Yet again we're being told to prepare for snow, this Skipper's very own phone chimed in this morning stating "significant snow expected," although I'm afraid I can't publish my response to its intrusive ding. 

The unnecessary excitement over god's dandruff irks me so much that I'm positively brimming with glee when I wake up and see, yet again, that the forecasts were wrong and the only thing covering my lawn is the pungent testament of a nocturnal feline prowler.

No sight of the blizzard brigade in those moments of meteorological deception. The scarf-wielding, woolly-wearing warriors of winter weather, where are they then?

Maybe it's the pain of winters-past that has turned me into a snow sceptic?

Those hopeful moments as a young lad in which the prospect of a snow day meant a day away from school, throwing snowballs at the girls you liked and taking the wheels of your skateboard to turn it into a makeshift snowboard. Those thoughts streaming through your mind as you threw back the curtain upon waking only to reveal that the weatherman had got it wrong again.

Curse those that hype up non-existent weather and a plague on their... wait a minute. Is that a flake? Another? Is it settling!? 

Someone fetch me my skateboard! Now where is my wife..?