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THE GOOD COLD DAYS

By Dave Loftus ⋅ December 20, 2007 ⋅  Print this post ⋅ Post a comment

It’s confession time- I love the cold. Ok maybe that was a bit too strong, let’s say I like it. Not in a good kind of way… I hate the cold. What I meant to say was that I respect the cold and the way it has duly arrived on time. In a year that has seen a spring that resembles autumn, a summer that was like a spring and an autumn that became summery, it seems nice and normal that winter has arrived in the month that most personifies it- December. The fact that I have spent the day trudging around town Christmas shopping and was about to text a mate complaining about the fact my feet had seemingly frozen into one big frostbitten toe, but was unable to because my fingers were no longer dexterous enough is a fine example of what I call Proper Cold.

Proper Cold is when you wonder how many layers you’ll have to put on then later realise it wasn’t enough. Proper Cold is slipping on ice when attempting to stop your nose going red. Proper Cold is that horrible feeling you get that feels like two icy biros are being pushed into your ears. Proper Cold is gritted paths, stark trees and clear blue skies and since that’s what we’re getting now it goes to show that winter is at least one season that is doing what it is told. Most people will think it cruel of Mother Nature to have the only efficient season the one that brings the most discomfort but look on the bright side, at least Christmas will be more like it should. It’s not going to snow, get real, but thanks to Proper Cold, we still have the joy of wrapping up and sitting around the fire and let’s face it, that’s good enough a Christmas Day for me. According to the doom-mongers (also known as scientists), our climate will soon go haywire, sending the seasons toppling over themselves and attacking us with all bizarre kinds of weather. And that’s just Britain. The climate change around the world will be even more drastic still so embrace the Proper Cold while it lasts. In the future, when we’re all living cramped and sweaty on the very last acre of Britain that isn’t underwater, we’ll look back on these times when the cold, crisp air rolled into our lungs and become nostalgic.