The sheer joy of a snow day never grows old | Nicola Adam column

If the pandemic has done anything positive, it has reminded many of us of those things which make life worth living. A gentle small fall of snow is one of them, particularly when a commute is not required, though going out in it reminds me of the warmth of home.

We are all guilty of donning our rose-tinted spectacles in these difficult times but most of us still get a rush of childish excitement when we see those flakes falling.

Every year without fail, I don my bobble hat at the first hint of snow in the air and run into the street - only remembering I am an actual adult grown up when I get looks from the neighbours.

But how can I resist? My happiest memories as a child were snow days. The spells of several weeks with snow so deep and even, when my siblings and I built inter-connected igloos in the front garden. I tried to sleep overnight in mine and the doorway fell in, leaving me trapped in my icy home. I had to dig my way out.

And what about those glorious white-out days where it was so deep the drifts crept halfway up the windows of our bungalow home at the time, making school impossible for weeks on end - the joy. Those mornings spent anxiously listening to the radio to see if our school was listed as closed and our excitement when the pipes froze and exploded one day, seeing us sent home at lunchtime. I’m not sure my parents or teachers were so impressed.

Then there was the sledging. We only needed a hint of the icy stuff to head out with our makeshift sliders concocted out of bits of wood and plastic to the nearest whitish slope.

I can still feel the adrenaline of those mornings, despite the inevitable descent into gravel and mud, often closely followed by scrapes , tears and occasionally, A&E.

Those indeed were the days and hopefully youngsters will get to feel those highs too - and those will be their rose-tinted pandemic memories.

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