Not at a fancy chalet on a mountain somewhere.

It wasn't even one of those tacky nightclubs with the snow machines and massive fans.

It was in a tiny backyard, down an alley, in Richmond.

Made from some bizarre mix of powder and water, one of my friends transformed his backyard into a winter wonderland of white, fluffy heaven.

Snowball fights were bound to happen and the strange, snow-like mixture - that was explained to me as some kind of emulsified plastic - made the floorboards inside incredibly slippery and I don't think I was the only one to

walk away with bruises after slipping and landing on my bottom.

One of the things I have realised since moving to Ballarat is the Melbournite perception of our historic city.

Whenever I go home for the weekend I'm frequently inundated by people I know, who ask:

"How's Ballarat? Cold?''

I usually respond with a witty reply such as:

"Oh yes, I've had the electric blanket on since January.''

But the truth is, although June was bitterly cold and miserable at times, I really don't think we've seen anything yet.

The first month of winter is now over and there are still two icy months to go.

And sadly, even though I am an Australian through-and-through, I can't help getting visions of snow-sleds, toboggans and a whole manner of cliched snow activities in my head.

But I'll let you in on a little secret.

Apart from that snow party in the backyard of an inner city apartment, I have never seen snow.

I was one of the kids whose parents' idea of a holiday was fishing, not skiing.

My nose is yet to be reddened by the icy winds and wet snowflakes have not kissed my rosy cheeks.

So far, I've noticed that most locals are dreading winter - the bitter cold, the frost on the windshield each morning, the gloomy, grey days.

I think I am one of the few people in Ballarat actually looking forward to it.

I want the gloves, the woolly scarves wrapped around my neck, the long trench coats, the hats, eskimo kisses, roaring fires and - naturally - the boots.

I want to wake up on a Saturday morning, put on my vintage ugh boots from the 1970s (that are pure lamb's wool, not knock-off polyester lining), my big, blue Monash hoodie, my old PJ pants and settle onto the couch with a

steaming hot cup of tea and listen to the distant sound of the Sovereign Hill whistle.

Last year I did a few weeks' work experience at The Courier as part of my university degree.

It was July and it was cold every day, but bearable.

The day after I left it snowed.

Imagine my disappointment to get back to Melbourne, only to hear Ballarat had received several inches of the white gold.

It never snows in Melbourne, especially not where I grew up in the beach-side, southern suburbs.

For me winter has always been a succession of drizzling, dull days with the occasional thunderstorm - hardly worthy of a brand new winter wardrobe.

In Ballarat, things are going to be different.

I'm going to embrace my inner snow bunny, break free from my years of lacklustre winter experiences and bathe in the white glow of snow.

Last week I went to Sovereign Hill for a story about the start of their school holiday program, where Main Street is transformed into a winter wonderland.

I was so excited!

It was late Friday afternoon and the photographer and I were running a little late.

We literally ran down Main Street - he had two massive cameras slung over his shoulder and I was clutching a notebook as my trench coat flapped around me, my black, pirate boots pounding the muddy ground.

Luckily by the time we got there the snow machines hadn't been activated yet.

After a few tweaks, they were switched on and in the dusky light that had settled, thousands of tiny puffs of white snow began to fall around us, drifting on the breeze.

It might not have been real snow, but the sensation of looking up and seeing the white snowflakes catch the light brought a broad smile to my face.

While most people are praying for rain, I'm praying for snow.

I may have been brought up as a beach baby, but something about this chilly town is definitely growing on me.