Rachel the transgendered snowperson

The snow came last night. We made our way from Newcastle , County Down, Northern Ireland in the footsteps of Van Morrison under the shadow of the Mourne Mountains and threaded our way through neat Protestant towns as snowflakes fluttered on the windscreen. The two girls were fast asleep in the back - oblivious as we crossed the border and climbed Tullyesker hill to see Drogheda laid out below us, the lights twinkling in the snow.

My 4 year old Molly had never seen snow before and went wild with excitement. Even though it was past her bedtime we still built a snowman in the back garden complete with carrot nose, charcoal eyes, Smartie mouth and Drogs scarf. He was promptly christened "Grey Cloud" by Molly (something to do with My Little Pony branding) but by morning had mysteriously changed sex and monicker and was now a female snowperson named "Rachel". Life is complicated when you're 4.

Molly delighted our next door neighbour by creating a Snow Angel on the ground just outside her front door at 9pm as the temperature sank below zero. (Making a snow angel consists of lying on the flat of your back and flapping your arms and legs to make an angel shape in the snow -see pic). I was puzzled at first as to why a 4 year old would want to lie in the snow in -5 degrees but then the artistic ambitions became apparent and I marvelled at the anaesthetic properties of excitement on a 4 year old.

The changing times in Ireland were impressed on me last week as I followed behind the funeral cortege of a friend’s mum on the way to her final resting place in a country graveyard. As the funeral wound its way out of town a young man strode quickly alongside the funeral, past the bereaved family and hearse whilst all the time talking animatedly in another language on a mobile phone. I was horrified at his insensitivity.  Was this an example of cultural difference or just a coldhearted man? Surely respect for the dead crosses all cultures and religions?

I took a walk in the snow around the old walls of Drogheda. The hilly landscape took on a magical hue under its silent blanket of soft snow. Snow that covered the mud and the upturned shopping trollys and took me back to a time of innocence. In the words of Van the Man “Wouldn’t it be great if it was like this all the time? “