I am proud to report that I am now an official member of my street’s snow patrol.

In last week’s column I sang the praises of Geoff, Trevor and Simon, the neighbours who form the lynchpin of the street’s emergency snow-clearing SWAT team, and revealed that for the first winter ever we had managed to procure a proper snow-shovel and some rock salt.

And lo, did the snow fall at the weekend, enabling me to race out into the street, armed with said brand, spanking new shovel, and set to the huge drifts with gusto. The snow patrol was waiting patiently for me. They approved my new equipment, watched keenly as I demonstrated my snow-shovelling abilities, and eventually approved my official investiture as a fully tooled-up member of the team.

The snow patrol isn’t solely Geoff, Trevor and Simon, of course, but they are its generals, its old guard, its founder members. Monday morning in particular found most of the street out with their snow shovels, and a sense of community was fostered.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, throwing huge piles of snow to one side as we forged a path through the frozen tundra, scattering rock salt. I thought about breaking into one of those old work songs, but the only one I could think of was “Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s Off to Work We Go”, so I thought I’d better keep my mouth shut and concentrate on the shovelling.

I proudly watched my wife drive off to work, the sweat of hard work on my brow, holding my snow shovel in hand as she negotiated a street practically cleared of snowfall. A huge sense of achievement warmed me better than any central heating.

(On a side note, there’s something amiss with the central heating. Remember that thing with the remote control, and how it wouldn’t turn the boiler on until I put new batteries in? It’s doing it again. I thought it best to keep you informed).

School was off on Monday, of course, so the children were being kindly looked after by a fellow parent, one of those who has a wonderful job where they can work at home if it snows, so before dropping them off I went for a quick shower.

When I finished and peered out of the window, I could have wept. The snow had started falling again. All that hard pre-dawn work, all that shovelling, all that pride at a job well done, was suddenly wiped out. By the time I was supposed to be setting off for work, the street was so full of snow again that I couldn’t get the car out.

So it was on foot we struggled through the ever-increasing drifts, and after dropping them off I faced the prospect of walking to work, or at least as far as I had to before I reached a bus.

As I set off, a song rose to my lips. Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s Off to Work We Go...