With a light sprinkling of white threatening to bring a little magic to London, civilisation appears to be on the brink as people wait for their busses, children slip but then quickly regain their balance and weather journalists are forced to crack out some truly atrocious puns: Snowpocalypse anyone?

The truth is that over the years, from the comfort of a heated cinema auditorium, we have marvelled at snowfalls that put Snovember (really, Sky News? It’s been, like, a week!) to shame. As newspapers fill with images of people engaging in an array of mundane activities – riding a bike, walking down a hill, waiting for a train – only to a snowy backdrop, we endeavour to put it all in perspective for you. Now, pull on a sweater, make a hot drink and quit making much ado about nothing.

Yes there have been avalanches in the past, deep freezes and transport cancellations, but I bet you’ve never had your tongue frozen to a chairlift, been snowed into an Alaskan town only to be slaughtered by vampires, or reincarnated as a snowman? There are a number of reasons to hate snow, the extra ten minutes it adds to your commute not being one of them.

So you’re snowed into your house…

It could be worse, you could be snowed into the Overlook Hotel with your wife, son and a festering psychosis. With the phone lines down and a few unfriendly apparitions messing with the chairs downstairs, things are only going to get worse as you’re chased through a snow-capped maze by your bloodthirsty, axe-wielding father.

So it feels like the world’s coming to an end…

It’s not really, you’ll likely wake up tomorrow (always a non-apocalyptic way to start the day) to find yesterday’s snow now a disappointing gravel-strewn slush. Your shoes might not make it but you can feel pretty confident that the rest of you will. I mean, come on, you could be poor Jake Gyllenhaal, forced to take refuge in a beached warship with a few rabid dogs as the temperature plummets, freezing everything that’s not cowering in a library.

So everything you touch is cold…

Until you’ve spent an afternoon with your tongue playing no-more-nails with the chairlift you inadvertently licked, it is very difficult to justify any complaints you have regarding the temperature of the handrail you’re using for seven steps of your day. Spare a thought for poor Harry who left the ski-lodge sans half his taste-buds.

So your flight’s been cancelled…

Benidorm can wait. Chances are you weren’t going anywhere particularly exciting anyway, a conference in Newcastle or a weekend break in Zurich. Unless you were due to catch the last flight out of Barrow, Alaska before the sun sets for the full winter season, of course. Worse, you could be trapped in Barrow with the ex-husband you had been avoiding like the plague. Worse, you could be trapped in Alaska with an awkward relic of the past and a swarm of sparkle-free, feral vampires that never have to worry about the sun coming up. Just take the stupid room in the stupid complimentary hotel and deal with it.

So you feel like you’re living the same snow-day over and over…

Whether or not Wednesday is just as snowy as Tuesday you are still progressing through time. That is more than could be said for Phil Connors who not only had to put up with snow for ten whole years, but ten years of the same day: Groundhog Day to be exact. You might have resorted to a tut, to complain to your friends abroad about your commuter hell, but the truth is that you have not resorted to being stabbed, shot, poisoned, frozen, hung, electrocuted, and burned to escape your wintry torment.

So you’re a little bit chilly…

Put a jacket on, turn up the hearing or trade all self-respect for a nice, huggable slanket. The truth is, unless you’re lying – face in the snow – on the ice planet Hoth, speaking to an hallucination of an old Jedi master, it is impossible to complain. Furthermore, should you ever find yourself in such a pitiable situation then thinkgeek.com have you covered. No tauntaun intestines for you.

So it’s making you ill…

It hasn’t killed you. After all it’s not like you’ve died in a black-ice related accident, landed in some toxic waste and returned as a snow-man. Whether you wind up using your snow powers to make peace with your son or rape women with your carrot nose it doesn’t really matter, you’re a snowman! Blow your nose, take a shot of Night Nurse and spare a thought for poor old Jack Frost.