Thursday, December 13, 2012
It's that deep and stiff December cold, everything is dark and frozen. The ending of the world on the 21st now seems remotely possible in these conditions, the planet could just slow down and stop in a minus Centigrade mist of frozen air, a silent puff and we all just stand stiff, stuck in our tracks. The running down timing of the year, beating it's own internal clock around and slugging with the sun for the rights to the longest night and shortest day, all taking a perverse pleasure in a deep cold that touches the raw bone's root. There is of course no escape, it's heads down, hands tight in pockets, make a grimace and clutch on to some hot beverage, turn the car heating up, choke on the exhaust, lean on a warm radiator, pull up the duvet. Then there's the internal glow of a golden and supernatural heater that blurs the edges, tapers away the sharp point of a frozen sting and calms your world down to that of the slowly tilting motion of the earth. Those few precious degrees that feed the seasons and take all the blame for climate and quirks. That'll be the alcohol, whisky or some such, a winter antidote. Just don't tell the Scottish Government.