I’m not a fan of snow.
It all started back when I was seven years old. My sisters and I were having a snowball fight in the street.
At the time my Auntie was visiting from America with her then partner, Chad.
I was hiding behind a car, and as I raised my head above the bonnet I heard a whistling sound. The rest is a little hazy.
I remember seeing Chad across the road.
I remember something white hurtling towards me.
I remember coming round in a bush with the snow around me resembling the aftermath of a Polar Bears seal supper.
You see Chad was the all-American
hero tit. Loud, brash, and a pro-college baseball pitcher.
He’d launched a snowball from across the street that’d hit me slap bang in the face and burst my nose open.… Read the full post