Fat Bloke on a Bike

The winter of 2020 was so very mild don't you know... My sisters still occasionally remind me of my birthday on the 3rd of November 1962.  It was a bad winter and an exceptionally bad month for snow.  Like this: They tell me how as teenagers they waded waist deep through the snow to get mum's expressed milk to me at Fulford maternity hospital.  I always imagined it to be a bit of a Monty Python sketch of Yorkshire folk in a cold coal burning hovel with mum at the sink wearing a pinnie with a fag in her mouth giving birth to me without noticing as the children cleared up the bloody sputum-like mess of it all.  Welcome to 1960's Yorkshire Wayne. As a child I recall many cold icy winters and the frost encrusted window panes at home before the days of double glazing salesmen.  I remember skating to school on frozen paths wrapped in a heavy duffle coat and bobble hat.  I remember seeing milk bottles on the window sill with silver bottle tops stood high ...