Well, it’s getting cold out there, and I find myself missing something I always hated. There is no snow in Toronto. As a kid in the north west of England (I spent my formative years in the beautiful Roman city of Chester), we rarely saw snow.  In fact, my Canadian mother missed the snow so much we often made the 3,500 mile trip across the pond to spend the holidays with relatives.

While I hated it as a child, the first snowfall has brightened my day for the last several years. You see, Kagin St. Bernard would be as excited as a puppy to see the white magic fall from the sky. She’d lay in it for hours, making doggie snow angels, chewing ice, basically looking as happy as a dog bred for rescuing people in the Alps could.

This year there is no snow, and there is no Kagin St. Bernard. This year, my British relatives are holed up in their houses, schools closed and enjoying all the beauty of a white December. I’m in Toronto, watching the grey morning skies and thinking about picking a snowball fight with an old friend. Funny how things change.