Sunday, 28 October 2012

I'm S.A.D.

Ok, I give in. Summer's gone and it's bloody freezing. I hand myself over to winter, with a sadness in my heart that I'll have months of windows running with condensation thanks to washing drying on all of the radiators. I hate winter. Who wants to spend 4 months either wet through or with ear-ache and chilblains? Snow is lovely - so long as you don't have to either walk or drive in it. Or leave the house at all really. I wince everytime I put the heating on, wondering what insane figure NPower will be plucking out of the air to increase our direct debit to this time. Honestly, you'd look at our bills and think we were powering a stately home.."Fire up the hearth in the west wing dear!". I reckon I have that SAD (seasonal affective disorder) because I'm even more miserable than normal during winter. Unless I regularly cover myself in fake tan, I remain a lovely shade of grey with chapped hands and windswept hair. Swit-swoo.

Even events like Halloween and Bonfire night aren't enough to rouse a bit of excitement. Halloween is a tricky one. The Daughter goes to a church school, so you'll not see them all trotting through the school gates dressed as Zombie cheerleaders or blood spattered serial killers. And having a three year old boy that is frightened of pretty much everything doesn't bode well for Halloween celebrations at home. This time last year I took the kids to Asda, and as I pushed them past the Halloween display in the trolley, a life-sized witch gave a loud cackle and the pair of them started crying and shaking like shitting dogs. They won't be 'Trick or Treat'ing either. There's something very weird about spending all year telling your offspring not to talk to strangers, take sweets from strange men, or damage other peoples property. But then on Halloween you send them out dressed as miniature vampires to knock on random doors and ask total strangers for treat-size Mars bars or they'll key their car...!

Bonfire night is also very traumatic for the Boychild. Loud noises are a no-no, which rules out fireworks. Even the supposedly family friendly quiet ones we purchased last year had to be abandoned after 2 Rainbow Fountains because he was petrified and wanted to go inside. They remain, gathering dust, on top of the bookcase in the hallway. The fact that he's also scared of the flames on the gasfire in the lounge gives me an inkling he'll not be too keen on a raging bonfire either. I would try him with a sparkler but there's a fairly good chance he'll try and stick it in his sisters ear.

So, you see, there's very little about this time of year that I'm happy about. I won't allow myself to get excited about Christmas for another few weeks either, so it's a bleak few months Chez Bobs. I often think, as I'm chuntering away scraping ice off the windscreen at half eight in the morning, how wonderful it would be to be one of those elderly people that just ups and buggers off to Majorca for the winter. Kind of like pensioners migrating. But why wait til the twilight of your life to feel the sun on your cold and weary bones! The Husband could manage without me for a few months...couldn't he??

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