Goodbye Mr Sunshine, Hello Ms Electric Fire

23 Oct

It’s too cold to go knacker drinking today. Cans and park benches have such an appeal when it’s warm, when the days yawn on until eleven o’clock and when air-conditioned offices put a thirst on you.

Now I’m weighed down by scarves, hats umbrellas and flasks of hot liquids. Tights and jumpers hide away the kick one garners from having a tight skirt or scoop top on.

I’ve spent a lot less time wandering around with bags of cans since the summer ended.

Smoking is ruined by struggling with child-proof lighters abused by the bellowing lungs of wind.  Post-nightclub chatter has moved from curbsides into a fluorescent taxed Charlies.

New friends I made in the sunshine look different with gloves and in darkness.

But I don’t know why this all surprises me. I’ve experienced the change to winter before, 21 times. The clocks are about to change, throwing us deeper into the dark recesses of indoors. Electric fires beckon, and hugs come more often, just to nick some heat from someone else.

Ah but we still have the fog, snow, sleet and frozen, ungritted roads to look forward to. TV programmes are getting better, but instead of getting drunk and barbecuing burgers on a Saturday evening, I’m being persuaded to watch the X Factor. I saw David Platt refer to his mother as ‘Gail’ instead of ‘Mum’ on a recording of Coronation Street last night. 

I think I need a holiday. Or at least a warm hug.

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