There’s a certain satisfaction in sitting in a field surrounded by nothing but nature. It’s a neanderthal yearning satisfied. It’s a thumbed nose to the hustle of life.
However (still my favourite word) I consider a persistent icy east wind and yet another 8 inches of snow sufficient reason for throwing an extra duvet on the bed and curling up next to a radiator, listening to the comforting click of the central heating timer, knowing that the switch on the electric fire is but a stretch away, drinking copious cups of coffee laced with brandy and giving in to the luxury that is modern living.
I love it. For a day or two. But this winter seems to have gone on for ever. I am fed up. Can’t settle to write, have no interest in reading, can’t find a single interesting thing on the telly. I have fallen victim to a winter lethargy that threatens to settle in for the foreseeable future. The only consolation – and it isn’t really a consolation at all – is that I’m not alone. We all seem to have had enough.
I’ve even booked a holiday for next year. Never been done before. I generally like to get at least half the year over before making plans for the next one. But the continuous whistling of the wind through the dodgy seal in the window where my computer and I hang out is driving me nuts. I refuse to spend another winter without at least a couple of weeks respite. (Or we could just get a new seal. Shan’t mention that – I’d really rather have the holiday!)
I can almost guarantee that those two weeks will be the mildest, driest, sunniest of the whole winter. At least they will be where we’re staying! I know, kiss of death. Even foreign climes have windy days and rain.
In an effort to shake myself out of this winter despondency, I have decided to have a bit of a clean up. No, not the duster in hand type, that would just be silly, I’ve decided to clear out the pictures on my computer. I’ve just checked and I’ve got 12,940. Time to get strict. I’m just going to save the really, really important ones. Like the children. And the grandchildren. Hubby. Holidays. Cats. Friends. Parties, weddings and those nights we have in the garden when the neighbours bring a bottle and we all tell jokes our children would be proud of. Flowers, I love flowers. Butterflies – there are a few. Goats, I’ve got goats! And meercats. Sandcastles. My mum…my dad…grandma, great grandparents…
This isn’t going to work is it? Maybe I just need a few more folders. And I’m sure there are some I can delete. That word – delete. How can you delete your own grandchild – even if it is the forty fifth photo of the same giggling child being pushed by the same weary granddad?
So – decided. Quick sit hug of the radiator, one more brandy-laced coffee and then to work. I’ll start with the flowers. Or not.
Break – phone yelling at me.
O.k. New plan. Friend tells me there’s a new holiday site I haven’t explored yet. I’ll just have a little look, then I’ll get back to work – of some sort. Maybe after tea. Maybe tomorrow. Never’s looking a good option. I’ll spring clean in spring. Whenever that may be. In the meantime, there’s a pair of blackbirds scavenging for crumbs around the bird table. Camera’s handy, got to go.