So now it’s just really cold, without the promise of brandy butter and getting drunk with friends and competitive board games and Christmas sloppiness (turning up late for work, missing an email, forgetting your Instagram password — although I think I might have subliminally done this on purpose — and getting back to people not so fast but, you know, whenever). Now it’s just chilly and the credit-card bill has landed. (How on earth we all thought it was fine to buy that much ham, Baileys, personalised Christmas bunting and last-minute cashmere scarves to give to aunties is beyond me.) The fridge is full of kale (this is too depressing for words), and we’ve all thought about trying yoga, kick-boxing or meditation. There’s even been talk of juicing.
It’s cold, and the pubs are empty; everyone is discussing the 16-hour fast rule (still confused, I thought it meant eating very quickly every hour for 16 hours straight — I’ll be honest, I got quite good at it), and we’re all a bit morose. The carol singers have packed up, and we have to wait a whole year (well, hopefully it will start even earlier in 2018) for the sparkly lights dripping from the trees and festive garlands.
Nope, let’s face it, this period is chilly, in every sense of the word. The sales have been and gone, but there was nothing much in them anyway. Maybe some of us bravely bought stuff that wasn’t quite our size (“I’m sure I can fit into size 4 Balenciaga boots if I really put my mind to it”), and our Christmas wardrobe full of tinsel-coloured jackets and mad winter-white options has been firmly shut, waiting to be opened again next November.
Now I’d like to quite seriously suggest we just stay in. You know, lock the doors and create a ping-back email that simply says: “Don’t bother me. I’m mourning the Yuletide season and have nothing to offer.” I’d like us all to turn down the invitations, the thrilling (I really don’t mean thrilling) “We’re back to the grindstone, here’s to a great new year” work-conference-room chats, and I wish we could throw our phones in the bin. This, however, is not acceptable to most other humans — particularly, it turns out, schoolteachers (“Um, I’m afraid that is the start date, Miss Winkleman, we really can’t stay closed till March”), and bosses (“Dye yourself orange and come back and read out loud. It’s what you do for a living, love”).
We have to be positive and upbeat; we have to nod when people talk about taking 2018 by the horns (I mean…); and we have to do the school run. We have to pay back the nice people at Visa and apologise for the bunting expense, and we have to get back on the wagon. What we need, then, is a proper, downright splendid, knocking-it-out-of-the-park coat.
Advertisement
Don’t panic, everyone. I’ve found it. I don’t know whether you believe in myths — the Loch Ness monster, leprechauns and the tooth fairy. Well, having seen this coat, I do believe in the yeti: a friendly (it’s very possible I’m now making this up), hairy beast that can cope with the icy weather. He wanders about, is rarely seen (my dream January and February), and has the most magnificently furry, dramatically warm coat.
This is by House of Fluff (correct, an excellent name), and it will make us all have a better post-Christmas winter. Hell, wearing this, I can even face kale. Just.
