The more it snows, tiddly pom

As the more observant amongst you may have noticed it's been snowing a tad bit recently, in fact it's been snowing so much that the country has descended into chaos, with hordes of cannibalistic nomads roaming the artic blasted tundra to harvest the soft fleshed survivors for their blubber farms. The ground is choked with the frozen corpses of the weak and the poor and the air is filled with terror filled rumours of wolf skin wearing marauders from the Northern lands descending upon us, their battles axes wet with blood as they ride their Death Bears into battle.

This is our reality

Of course only part of this is true. The majority of people make it into work (if they bother going) with some minor annoyances (like delayed trains and icy roads) but really this isn't much of an event, not really a story, it's all terribly mundane and normal. But as I sit in my office and I prick up my handsome ears to the words of my colleagues you'd imagine some once in a lifetime disaster had occurred. I repeatedly hear them talk in hushed tones about how it took them 5 minutes to de-ice their car and at how they had to wear 2, yes 2, jumpers to stay warm. Stories which could have been summed up with, 'The train was cancelled so I got a bus which is why I'm 20 minutes late', turn into half hour epics with witless asides about their boots and a man who kept sneezing, which is regaled to a starry eyed crowd who listen, only as they are chomping at the bit to give their own counter story which is quickly embellished with additional boring facts in the endless struggle to out-do eachother, 'That's nothing, I fell over twice and walked 2 miles in the snow and saw a frozen lake and cars skidding'. It ends up as an awful version of 'The Four Yorkshireman' sketch with all the wit, delivery and timing taken out and replaced with a steadily growing urge to kill them and then yourself, possibly with an icicle for poetic reasons.


Of course some people do have genuinely exciting stories about surviving the horrific onslaught of crystallised water, sent by a vengeful and humourless God. I for one hiked 20 miles through an ice storm, my hands slowly freezing around the whale bone handles of my ice picks, my skin burning with an intense fire at the white world that surrounded me. Then suddenly out of the corner of my eye I spot teeth and claws. It was a Polar bear, 25 feet tall, it's face reddened with the blood of many orphaned children, it's claws tangled in the flesh of many Nuns. But I slayed the fearful beast with my bare (geddit!) hands and surfed his body across the ice realms to freedom and victory and office work! I also slaughtered some Eskimos and punched a wolf

I'll do anything to survive