COLD SPIRAL

Well, I guess I got my wish. There was a dusting of snow today, like icing sugar on the top of a Victoria Sponge cake. Plus, the air has been icily cold, not sharp and biting, but pervasive, through jeans and socks and scarf and gloves, right into my bones. Unfortunately, I can't seem to get the heaters in my flat to work properly.

I was just chatting to my Dad about it. He's obsessed with the weather.

"Of course February is statistically the coldest month in the Northern Hemisphere, so you never know, there might be more winter still to come."

I love how he slips little quiz facts into normal conversation. I think that's how he remembers them, by integrating snippets into daily life. We had about twenty minutes the other day on the hymn, Jerusalem, by William Blake. It had only started because somebody mentioned Glastonbury.

Wait a minute, I do that, don't I? Golly, some things are properly genetic aren't they?

I know I kind of asked for it, and therefore I shouldn't grumble, but the cold weather today sent me into a spiral. I sat in Starbucks after church with a pot of tea and some fruit toast. I'd hoped it would warm me up, but the air rushing in from the doors, the sound of kids skidding around the tiled floor, and the hard, wonky table made it feel more like the side of an ice rink. I cradled the mug in my fingerless gloves and sipped the lukewarm tea. I probably should avoid being alone with my thoughts, I thought to myself, pointlessly.

I don't think I have much choice though. I'm about to go and live on my own, after all. What will happen? Will I go cuckoo like some couped-up POW in solitary confinement? Will the silence ring in my ears like a tolling bell, reminding me of my failure, night and day? Will I get a cat to worry about and talk to? The jury is out as to whether or not that's a good idea. Or will I just get used to it and find the creative mojo I need, in a quiet world without distraction?

One thing's for sure. I'd better fix my heating.