It's white here, very white, which makes a pleasing change from grey - so long as you are indoors or outdoors throwing snowballs, on a tobogan or whizzing stones or sticks to zing across a frozen pond. The peripetetic tabby has decided cosy is better and is curled up in the soup bowl he's made in our fluffy white bean bag.

It was snowing when I went to bed last night, when I woke and is still going. We say it's raining cats and dogs but what's the equivalent for snow-zebras and cotton balls? I'm now wondering how cats and dogs have any connection with rain...

It feels so soft and so eerily quiet from the comfort of my Lazboy armchair. Yet, when it rains, there seems to be extra noise, splashing of puddles, tyres on the road, beating on the window pane, tapping on the roof.

I went out early, to help the birds, by scraping a thick layer, like the top of a Victoria Sandwich, off the bird bath and filling that with hot water. And, whilst the smaller birds and Starlings could perch and eat from the seed holder, the blackbird could not. So I made a clearing in the snow down to grass level, sprinkled bird seed and covered it with a garden chair and table to stop the snow piling up over it again. The Blackbirds and the pigeon are now happier. Or is that me? I've done a good deed today - well, two, if you count the cat. But then the cat really made the decision, as cats do. I tried putting him out an hour ago and he just sat at the door looking at me as snow piled on his back.

The snow accentuates every shape. The summer recliner now has eight inch thick arms. The crinkle edge of the garage roof stands out, black against white. An original snow moulding within the garden chair has slipped down the back and over its seat, like the limp clock in a Dali picture. Small hillocks started to build early on the tops of the seed and nut feeders. I have been wondering how pointed these could become. Suddenly I decided to take a picture fearing imminent collapse. Two seconds later, it happened. In the same way that I wake a minute before the alarm clock actually goes off. Who said we know time and order?

Snow in London is always exciting, a marvel, new, a shock. Despite weather predictions we still look out the window and draw breath, call out "its snowing"! No matter how old we get, we are released for a moment from the weight of "being adult". Here is something different from that which we expect each day - "more of the same" as if we hunger relief from our complacency. The unexpected makes us feel alive, whether or not it is welcome.

Above all this, we can't stop it snowing. A pain to have to travel in but beauty and something beyond ourselves or our making and, in that way a release from that responsibility. I tread out now, crunching underfoot, to see daylight dim and the street lights glow against the snow.