This week, I am mostly yawning. The shorter days don’t help. As soon as it goes dark I feel like I should be under a blanket, all cosy. Which of course could, never, ever happen in real life, because real lives have husbands and children in them. Well, just the one husband. I’m not into origami.
I don’t know how women would cope with more than one husband. One, in my humble opinion, is enough. But I totally understand why some men have multiple wives. Why wouldn’t they? They would get 3, or 5, or 9 times more mollycoddling than a man with just the one wife. That would be man heaven.
The downside, of course, would be that - inevitably, because they are a man - they would do something silly/inappropriate/downright daft like men have a habit of doing occasionally (men, please note, I am being very generous here with the use of the word ‘occasionally’). And then they would have the wrath/nagging of 3, or 5, or 9 wives. And that’s a man nightmare.
Anyhoo, it’s like at the end of the year your body is telling you that you’ve managed to negotiate another set of seasons - wind, rain, sun, wind, rain, sun, more rain, more wind, frost, ice, more rain, snow, even more wind - and another year of family/work nonsense, and that now is the time to rest and gather your strength ready to do it all over again in January.
That’s what big, baggy jumpers and trousers are for, ladies. It’s the female equivalent of hibernation. I am sure that my systems shut down and everything goes on to ‘ticking over’ mode. I move more slowly, speak more slowly and go out less often. Like I said, a kind of hibernation.
And maybe Christmas - yes, it’s November now so we can all use the C-word - is not just a cynical marketing ploy by toy companies to fleece parents. Maybe Christmas is all part of this phantom hibernation vibe. It’s the time to lay down stocks and gain a few hundred pounds. Eat, drink and be merry so that you will have enough reserves to see you through the months of misery - January and February.
March sees spring flowers and a glimmer of milder weather. And you can occasionally shed a layer. Going out without your big winter coat on for the first time in a year is very liberating. Unless you’ve enjoyed your hibernation too much and now weigh a couple of stone more than you did in October. Ho hum.
This spring I’m really looking forward to going away in Georgina, our caravan. That’s if she survives the winter and doesn’t disintegrate into a pile of aluminium strips, rotten wood and fibreglass. She has also become more static and has wrapped up warm as she embraces her very own hibernation - the winter lay-up. She is sitting forlornly outside Shoogly Towers with a tarpaulin over her roof, lashed all around her, winter wheels on (old rims with old perished tyres) and any pipes or inlets mice could crawl in through blocked with plastic bags and duct tape. Sorted. I am sure like me, she’s waiting for March and the excitement of the first trip of the season. And I know now that, unlike me, she won’t have gained a single pound in her hibernation. Lucky Georgina.