TV talk shows ease cabin fever
The theory of Snow Day is much better than the practice of Snow Day. That's just basic science.
I wasn't really keen on having Snow Day so early in the season. We've only just had our last one. The novelty had already worn off.
Mostly I was just annoyed because I was already up and about to walk out the door when the Snow Day texts started. It was a crying shame that the sensible option was to stay home because I was already showered, dressed and ready for work - and I was having a very good hair day. It just seemed like a waste for no-one to see it.
A Snow Day quickly grows monotonous. Certainly, there is a lot of beauty in that virginal white blanket but by the mid-afternoon I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to see another photograph of it in my Facebook newsfeed.
I was the same, snapping away for the sake of posterity but, for some reason, instead of taking pictures of the backyard and surrounding area I became somewhat obsessed by three large pears that had fallen off the tree and were slowly being swallowed by the white stuff.
I took a record of the pears at 10am, midday, 2pm, and . . . well, you get the picture. I stayed faithfully on pear watch until the daylight died.
There was some intense work in the morning but by the afternoon I officially had cabin fever.
I briefly opened each of the following: a disco, a rave and a karaoke bar.
Meanwhile, across town, my friend, Hayley, had her four children home and by lunchtime, I think, the phrase was: "Over it."
At one stage, I knelt on the seat in the bay window and listened to the beautiful silence, all the while staring at the pears. The silence was too intense after a while so I flicked on the TV.
It had been a while since I'd had the pleasure of afternoon telly.
I could choose between one talk show host called Anderson Cooper, who, fittingly for the season, bore more than a passing resemblance to a Nordic sleighhound and seemed incapable of smiling naturally.
Or, on another channel, was Dr Oz. Over the years, I have been made aware of the phenomena of Dr Oz, mainly through my mother, who fancies him.
Anyway, today's topic was how to "cheat and eat" so people could learn how to make food lower in salt, fat and sugar.
Now I don't know what genuine health tips might have gone on during the first part of the show but the bit I caught was how to make diet cocktails.
A bald mixologist was whizzing, blending and pouring in booze but, he explained, creating a healthy option because he used honey for the sweetener.
Dr Oz shrugged and said: "Fine." Then muttered something about thinning the blood.
I didn't really get it but who am I to judge? I wondered briefly whether I had the ingredients to make an afternoon cocktail but popped outside to have another look at the pears instead.
A bit later in the day, another email came through from work.
It warned of the dangers of icy roads and recommended staying home another day.
An image floated through my mind, of the scene grab as the credits of Dr Oz's show drew to a close.
The audience was clapping its approval of honey-laden cocktails and an ad appeared across the bottom of the screen.
"Next up: The fattest women in America face off."
I couldn't help but think, maybe one more Snow Day might be OK.