There’s a completely unknown 1991 song called Winter by a criminally unknown Glaswegian band called Love and Money:
Winter
Shine on, shine on
In the beauty of the storm, I wither
I wither
Well, like winter itself it’s a bloody strong brand. Alongside summer it’s got the clearest identity. Despite having far less to play with, you’d recognize winter anywhere. It’s the season looking grey with its face screwed up against the wind. The only good time to truly meet winter is in the Alps in a warm cable car on the way to some cozy Alpine bar.
Winter is like the waiting room of seasons. Everything is happening behind the scenes, it’s all rotting or hibernating; it’s a thin line. You spend most of winter either with a cold, or fearful that you’re getting one. Coming down with a cold takes so long that it lingers into becoming a way of being; every breath is accompanied by a sniff and every search in your pocket insulated by hundreds of used-tissues from forgotten sneezes. You’re so bunged up you could suffocate yourself simply by closing your mouth. Prolonged kissing is ill-advisable, as fainting went out of fashion at the turn of the last century. Even sneezing sounds like ‘a tissue’. We need to evolve our language, so sneezes extend their phrasing to include ‘please’.
Most people postpone the onset of winter by refusing to accept the deteriorating weather. They skip to work in light jackets and sandals as though delay in digging out scarves and gloves alone might repel the north-easterly winds. Winter is full of fond memories: scratching your name in the ice on the inside of the bedroom window, whilst dreaming of double glazing, fighting for bum space on storage heaters that didn’t work, and being constantly told to shut doors. Summer was a long time ago by a mid rural November.
Mind you, the London underground refuses to let go of Summer’s stifling heat. Trains’ thermostats appear to have two settings: OFF and FURNACE. For those resigned to winter on the walk to the station find themselves sweating like a wrestler under a jumper, which becomes impossible to remove when compacted against another 40 standing passengers also wearing 20-tog jumpers. The capacity of London’s underground network is halved in winter thanks to layered clothing and jumper thickness. Some of the puffier jackets should require their own ticket.
From the viewpoint of summer, when you’re arse deep in a padding pool and paying your children to fan you with a newspaper, the concept of winter is appealing – ‘oh, I can’t wait for winter, I can wear my winter coat,’ is a favourite, like it’s a teenagers’ chance to take their Dad’s car out for a spin. Winter seen from summer is all rosy cheeks and fires in the hearth. It’s all bracing walks beneath blue skies across undulating Downs. The beautiful editing of memory forgets the horizontal wind shooting icicles of air through your ‘winter coat’ with the ease of ballbearings across a polished ballroom dance-floor. It forgets that most conversation involves swearing at the cold rain when the sky looms heavier as a tombstone.
Talking of looming, Christmas, of course, overshadows winter like the Star Destroyer dwarfs the rebel spaceship at the start of Star Wars, but what happens once its tinsel has lost its shine?
The best place to be in winter is the countryside, where leaf-fall from the trees reveal entirely new views. At first glance, it might hold all the appeal of accompanying a year 3 school trip on a hangover, but at closer glance there’s elegance to the simplicity. There’s so much less in winter, less to distract or steal the eye. It’s all bare bones and branches out there. You won’t last long without a pocket warmer, but it’s surprisingly restorative, particularly if you’re within walking distance of a pub with an open fire. And once inside you can finally stop swearing at the weather, unless it’s only got an outside toilet.
The WHSmith Fresh Talent novel the Life Assistance Agency, and it’s follow up Unfinished Business, as thoroughly recommended for winter reading and can be purchased from Foyles here:
and from Amazon here: https://amzn.to/37VnsGP
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A version of this post was previously published on LifeAssistanceAgency and is republished here with permission from the author.
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Photo credit: istockphoto