I was wrapped up so much, I couldn’t really walk properly. I had jumped up and down by the back door for what seemed an age before mum would let me out. I was all for running straight out, ploughing through that wonderland of snow. I imagined myself scooping up with glee and throwing glittering fistfuls at the fence, just to see it explode in little white sparks.

I jiggled as the jumper was pulled over my head, which was followed by a coat, buttoned all the way to the top. I stood, impatient, while mum tried to find my boots. She rummaged in the cupboard-under-the-stairs, gave up, and I squeezed into a pair of last year’s wellies.

Reaching for the door handle, I held my breath. Today’s playground lay, waiting. But then mum pulled me back again. She’d found me some gloves. They were scratchy and woollen, so I resisted. I wanted to feel the cold wet magic in my hands. How could I sculpt a snowman? Next, a thick fleecy hat was produced. It had no bells, or tassels; it was plain grey, yet I loved it. It was so soft and it covered my ears just right. Quivering, I waited. Nothing else? She moved away and I watched her skirt twirl. She smiled at me, and nodded. Nothing else. No more waiting.

I reached up and pulled the handle. A blast of chilled air whirled in, turning my breath to mist. As the door swung wider, more of the enchanting scene was revealed to my wide-open eyes. Everything was completely still. The sky hung low, heavy and ready to drop more flurries of snow on the world. The trees held armfuls of it; it was draped across the tops of hedges. Not a blade of grass showed through the smooth, perfect carpet. I stood motionless on the step, and simply stared.