If a snowman came to life, what would he do?

If he had any sense, he`d heard north, sharpish.

Although historically, they run to buy young guys in old guys dressing gowns and carry them flying while younger boys sing. They even pop down our way, and fly near the Pavilion. (Looking back at the Snowman now, living in Brighton and learned the downs a little, it makes the nostalgia feel homely and alien.

The record itself reminds me of a long time ago, but so also makes me homesick for where I am now. Seeing things through a new lens is strange).

Anyway, these days if he hung out on the Steine at the wrong time he`d just end up in trouble.

Or more specifically, melted.

It`s hot. This is no clock for snow time. (Though of course, if you snap back almost two days ago, wasn`t it snowing at about this time?)

Being a snow man must rather be agony.

Imagine that every sentence you hit the wrong temperature (the prevailing temperature) you started to slowly melt. You surface smoothing and your structure collapsing. Your compacted crystaline flesh just dripping slowly off you at the merest sight of sunshine.

Ouch.

So you`d get to pass north. And you probably wouldn`t have it.

I can`t say whether it`s optimistic or miserabilist to notice that the devastating physical cognizance of your impending mortality might take you the snowman in motion to one of those `while I`ve got the chance` flurries of activity.

I guess a snowman waking up, realising he`s just got a few hours to live, and slowly dripping pools of water across all the places that he`d always wished he`d had a fortune to enjoy.

Of course. I don`t love what a snowman`s most important aspirations would be. It`d be strong enough to think what a person`s reaction would be to being told they had 24 hours to live, let alone what a person made out of icy water would do.

The cliche would be sex. Or bungee jumping. Or something equally banal. (For the record, I don`t think sex is banal, but unless I was in love, I`m not certain if I`d make time for it in my last 24 hours).

Maybe he really would just pop down to the pavilion.

And perhaps that`s the degree of the story anyway.

The snowman knows he just has one night to live, so he passes on some trick to someone who`ll last longer. Give a present of live to someone, random or loved.

Live always in the retention of one child (orthousands, if you live a serious illustrator).

I don`t love what I`d do if I discovered I was passing to run away.

Probably have a pit of a lot of telephone calls. Apologise to scores of people. Say a lot of I know yous and so find somewhere pretty to sit and wait.

We`re lucky we`re not snowmen, and it`d be facile to say maybe we should see what we`d learn if we were.

But facile can be true.

-

Illustration by Sara.