All I want for Christmas is an escape route, an ice-pick and a moisturizing lip balm
Civitas, 17 December 2010
Bing Crosby may have dreamt of a white Christmas; but, as festivities approach a climax, bringing with it a band of rain, sleet and snow, the reality of spending another year cooped up at home like a turkey in a battery farm rapidly moves down the list of seasonal aspirations.
Observing the bitter chill of winter whilst cocooned within the fuzzy warmth of the capital’s stuffy microclimate is like watching a fairytale from a distant land unfold; that is until an arctic front knocks on your door signaling the time to dig out your most unfashionable fleecy paraphernalia. It’s only when schools close-shop for Christmas and the remnants of yesterday’s office party—a few rogue canapés and wine stains on my skirt—remain, does the impending dread of returning to the paternal nest along with some three previous generations develop. It’s not so much the cold trek across London with a couple of suitcases and the kitchen sink that creates a foreboding like never before; at this time of year tube traveling is bliss – Transport for London heaves a sigh of relief as passengers either pack away their Oyster cards or never reach the platform having suffocated under the weight of overpriced presents in an Oxford Street department store. Rather, it’s what lies ahead: the hopeless anticipation of presents from Amazon being delivered on time, fuel rationing and suspended food deliveries.
Energy minister and Christmas Scrooge Charles Hendry astutely warns that if more snow falls, the situation could become ‘very serious indeed’. The subtext of numerous weather reports makes for a Freudian heyday: never mind the serious conditions outside, the threat of depleted food supplies will bring new meaning to the word ‘treacherous’—with suspended M&S home deliveries in the worst affected areas of the North, quite how the Scots will cope without their connoisseur Christmas pudding packed with plump sultanas and steeped in Courvoisier cognac I don’t know. We’ll have to give up our favourite cashmere cardigans to keep geriatric relatives alive and the only hotspot in the house, running on half the required heating fuel, will be available on a strict minute-by-minute rota.
Why Hendry is only now having discussions with the Office of Fair Trading about the price of fuel given that November’s trial dip in temperatures gave the rest of us cause for concern is beyond me. Short of postponing Christmas until the spring, thereby allowing us to thaw out and enjoy a belated but civilised festive period with ample food and elbow space, let us learn from previous winters past and the very recent frosting: cold spells invariably spell havoc. So, instead of seeing the dull repeat of last year’s news, how about a proactive approach to relieve the avoidable symptoms: numb toes, an empty stomach and an absent Santa.