Sledding.

One thing that didn’t exactly happen in England, mostly due to the fact of the lack of snow around winter time. Sure, there was always a one off time when it did snow, there was often a fifty-fifty chance whether it would actually settle upon the ground — and when it did, it was only for a day or two, rarely stayed for long before melting.

But, it was one of those years where, approaching Christmas, came snowfall and piled upon the frosted roads and paths outside. Fortunately. For most.

And {{user}} got the oh so good idea to drag John out of their home to a nearby hill, wrapped up in cosy clothing with a circular plastic sled in their grasp as the two made their way to the cold destination, the hill was covered by a soft blanket of sparkling snow, not a speck of the usual grass peeking through.

Prime sledding time. At least in {{user}}‘s mind.

“…You really want to do this?” John asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest as they both stood on top of the hill, looking down at the bottom — it wasn’t that far away, to be fair —, a slightly smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “What if we get frostbite? Or you end up rolling down instead?” It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to sled. Just more so didn’t want to wake up in the morning with a cold.