Friday, 7 December 2012

A plague a' both your houses.


It's a dazzlingly bright, freezing day in Jolly Old England. I would actually go as far as to say it's beautiful. I threw the curtains open this morning and the pale winter sun damn near blinded me. This, I thought, this is a Hollywood English winter morning, and I really ought to make a movie moment. I had visions of leading ladies looking effortlessly captivating in their spotless white coats, quirky hats and impossibly thick scarves.

I have a white winter coat, bobble hat and chunky knit scarf.

So, that's how I found myself walking down the country lane behind my house, having taken more care over dressing and presenting myself than I usually would to go out for a night. I had my headphones in, I was listening to Going North by Missy Higgins - it was insanely cold but it was beautiful life in amazing clarity. From the frost-bearded leaves to the diamond blue sky, it was perfect.

Yeeeah. That lasted about two minutes.

I stepped on a frozen puddle and did that impromptu Broadway dance thing of suddenly flailing arms to stop myself from actually falling. Pretty sure I made a 'HOOOBARRGH!' noise.

Not the end of the world, though. I gave an airy laugh and carried on.

But then it happened again. And then I damn near twisted my ankle off because a pile of wet leaves were disguising a hole. And THEN a pair of squirrels ran over the tree branches above me, disrupting the boughs enough to send a shower of freezing leftover rain and dew down all over me. It went DOWN THE BACK OF MY NECK. That is NOT COOL. And did you know that even though bobble hats are ridic cute, they're not waterproof? Like, at all? My hair is dyed the red of the fires of Mount Doom at the moment, but the thing with red hair dye is that it never completely rinses clear when you wash it off. That means every time  you wash your hair the water looks like someone's been murdered. So when the unexpected shower hit me, little rivulets of red started to track down my face and the back of my neck, and yes, over my white coat.

I took my coat off hurriedly as I stumbled as fast as I dared back towards my house, holding it at arm's length. I was nearly free and clear, then I tripped on what with later inspection turned out to be a frozen dog turd, and ended up on my knees in wet leaves and freezing mud.

At that very moment, a man came around the corner with his dog. I can't tell you what he must have thought, but he froze where he was and stared at me. I don't blame him, I looked insane. My hat was crooked, I was in a grey vest-top in the middle of winter on my knees in crap, with one arm thrust out holding what must have appeared to be a white coat covered in blood stains.

Man, I fled. I can't dress that up to be pretty, I had no words. I just peaced.

So, now I'm nursing a hot coffee and wishing it had whiskey in it, soaking my coat in Ace and applying plasters to my skinned knee.

I should have done what I always do and stayed inside, growing more and more pale and interesting and photosensitive.


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