TO say we are not often ready for snow is a bit of an understatement. We are NEVER ready for snow. Well, actually, the sort of people who buy their Christmas presents in the July sales, always have spare fuses AND know where they are, ditto candles in power cuts, plasters for other sorts of cuts and the sure and certain knowledge of the whereabouts of the Christmas decorations, THEY will be well prepared for snow. The rest of us won't. People who live in countries where snow is fairly predictable in winter don't get caught out. They have proper clothing and footwear, spare cans of anti-freeze and de-icers, stocks of food and drink including dried milk, candles, torches that work, and, in their car boots, emergency gear including spades, blankets, spare coats, Wellington boots, gloves, spare bulbs, bottles of water and a small stock of food, usually chocolate. The same sort of car kit is carried by friends of mine who live in California in case of earthquakes with one or two minor variations. On the other hand, my boot contains one bag of books destined for a charity shop and one bag of books destined for the library; two pairs of shoes, both with high heels; one short light-weight summer jacket; a chiffon scarf; a pair of secateurs; 15 carrier bags, three of them 'bags for life' which obviously weren't, two torches which don't work, one which just about does but will go any minute, and a bottle of sparkling mineral water with a touch of lemon. Only the latter would be of any use in a snow emergency so it's lucky I wasn't on the A30 in a snowdrift on Friday afternoon. It also occurred to me that if I had been and had to abandon the car and spend a night in some leisure centre I would probably have never found my car again because it's silver grey and I don't know the number plate. I have now written it down in my diary, which is so far my sole preparation should such a crisis happen again, although I have bought a small dynamo torch which doesn't need a battery. This isn't to say it will be in the car when needed, but it's a start. I actually love snow, in fact I always go a bit crazy, as anyone who got a snowball in the face outside the office will testify. Sorry about that. I love the silence of snow, when you wake up in the morning and just know a blanket of white is covering the garden. I love the garden with a pristine white covering, so that every garden looks perfect even if it isn't underneath. I love the feel of soft feathery white snowflakes falling on my face. Goodness me, I'll have to stop or someone will call me a pretentious cow. And not for the first time. I didn't love snow quite so much when, with just a smattering of the white stuff on the road, I had to join lots of other motorists and take a detour at Merrymeet because the road ahead was closed. I've never been through Pengover Green before and I suspect the residents wish that I, and several hundred other motorists, hadn't either as we slithered past their front doors in convoy. Otherwise, Friday was an exciting day for some of us. Snowballing became the sport of the day, plus watching people who unwisely decided to drive down Pike Street and then, even more unwisely, decided to reverse back up again. Back home I found a grandchild who had been through every pair of gloves in the house and was stiff with cold but who still didn't want to come indoors until forcibly removed from the garden and thawed out in front of a radiator. I retrieved a pair of hidden gloves and had a snowball fight with myself before it got dark. I'll round off the snow by saying a big thanks to the two stalwart council workers who spent a large part of Friday in Liskeard throwing sand and grit on the roads and pavements. Using the most up-to-date equipment available at the time, a wheelbarrow and spade, they worked tirelessly to prevent accidents to both pedestrians and vehicles and were still clearing ice on Monday morning. Every so often you see articles bemoaning the fact that the internet is ruining Christmas sales in the big high street shops. Well, sorry, but there are reasons. While shopping in small towns is usually fairly pleasant, with a nice atmosphere and plenty of smiles, it isn't the same in a big city. For a start there's the crowds, the exorbitant parking fees demanded for parking in a space contained in what looks like an early Communist block of communal flats, the traffic on the road outside searching in vain for a parking space so that they don't have to go into the former. And that's before you get to the shops. Then, armed with your gift list, you fall into the welcoming heat of a department store and before you know it you are at the mercy of the beauty counter staff. Perfectly made-up, with a built-in curled lip, they stand guard behind their counters just waiting to humiliate any given number of customers. No matter how carefully you dress and make-up they still look at you as if you've crawled out of a manure heap that very morning. 'Would madam like a makeover?' they say, thinking 'fat chance'. Move on to the fashion floor and you either get ignored by assistants who are busy discussing last night's date with a lot of 'oh did he?', 'he never did' talk, or are followed round the floor by someone who is on commission and is hellbent to sell that velvet gypsy skirt to some poor sucker, or watched to see you don't shoplift a sparkling tank-top. I don't know which I dislike more. Stop by a rack of size eight clothes and one or the other of them will sidle up and shout 'fat people this way please'. Well, they don't actually say it, but you know they want to. If you're really in a self-punishing mood you may make your way to a toy shop where you will find the cast of every television reality show about badly behaved children having tantrums amongst the latest must-have toy sections and a staff of people who look about 14 and know absolutely nothing about the products they sell. On the other hand, the internet offers peace, quiet and a dearth of any Max Factored female selling cosmetics. If you feel lonely for these then you only have to turn on the television and go to one of the sales channels where you will find the epitome of all make-up counter ladies. Even then, it is difficult to hate someone who can talk for 20 minutes non- stop about a new style of cuticle remover.