Harold held his infant daughter to the window. "Look at the depth of snow, Lucy," he said. "I haven't seen it so deep since 1976 when we were snowed in and mum had to dig a tunnel to the outside loo. It was a brilliant tunnel, too. Over six feet high and in the shape of a man. She was so clever!"
"ran-ran-ran," agreed the fourteen-month Lucy.
He spotted a figure on the drive. "Look! There's uncle Jasfoup! He's making a pat from the road to the house, only without a shovel. His path looks like the bottom half of a person, too. He's so hot blooded he just melts the snow around him."
Harold frowned. "Oh. There's another childhood memory ruined."