IT NEVER fails to amaze me how, when a couple of inches of snow falls, the majority of the population appears to throw their hands up in horror and the country grinds to a halt.

I’m 63. Not once, when I was a child, do I remember my school closing for even half a day for any reason, let alone a smidge of snow.

I would be packed off every morning in my blazer and beret, knee-high socks, startright shoes and tunic, in rain, sun, snow or, ice, with the icy blast whistling up my skirt.

My mother would load me and a couple of friends into her little (none four wheel drive I might add) Fiat, and off we’d go.

Did she or we think it was dangerous? No, not at all, in fact we couldn’t wait to get out in it and chuck snowballs at each other at play time.

To hell with health and safety. Never heard of it.

I now read there’s a headmaster in Dagenham who has banned his pupils from even touching snow! Why?

The country, and, it would seem, the majority who sail in her have gone safety bonkers.

Buy some grips for your bloochers folks, don a couple of extra sweaters, a decent coat, buy a walking pole and carry on as normal.

Heaven forbid we ever have World War Three - everyone would be cowering in their bunkers and cellars, clutching a candle, a bag of congealed KFC, their phones, and a flask of tea.

And the singing of the 1940s would be replaced by the grumbling of the 21st century.

This photograph shows my godson in Switzerland shovelling snow off the roof of the local ski hut.

Probably not the safest stance he’s ever taken, but in Switzerland, life goes on, whatever Mother Nature throws at the people who live and work there.

In the meantime, I would like to thank the postmen in Windermere, we haven’t missed a delivery this week.

Louise Broughton