I woke up on Easter Sunday and looked out the window to be greeted with the beautiful sight of snow.

Everything in the garden was covered with a couple of inches of the white stuff and it was still falling. I didn't need to wake the kids, they were already watching Spongebob Squarepants on the telly. But the mention of snow had them rushing to the window and jumping up and down excitedly. We all dressed quickly and spent the next couple of hours building snowmen and throwing snowballs at one another.

And the snow kept falling.

Of course something like that could never happen in Dorset.

We were all in Lincolnshire staying with my inlaws. Scarily enough only the night before we'd watched The Day After Tomorrow on the telly. Remember? That's the one where global warming causes a huge storm to form over the North Pole and the temperature to fall to some unbearable figure where anything exposed is frozen to death instantly.

The sea level has risen to flood New York and frozen over.

The hero of the film's son is trapped in the city library and the cold weather is coming. He and a half dozen pals keep warm by burning the books from the shelves while waiting for dad to arrive and save them.

Of course they avoid the cold wind by minutes while fleeing from wolves that have escaped from the zoo.

Then the sun comes out and dad arrives having trekked across America to save them.

It's a great tale and as I looked at the falling snow I said a quiet prayer that it wasn't the start of something similar.

By lunchtime the snowmen, lined up with stick arms and flowerpot hats, were starting to sweat and the weedy sun was peeping through clouds.

It hadn't got cold enough to burn the books in the house.

An hour later the snow was almost gone.

I reckon we've survived the disaster for another year.