cold noses

It is November.

I had forgotten November in England.

I have been back here for Christmas. But then there are mince pies and the fabulous shop windows at Harvey Nichols to distract you.

I have been here in March, when the crocuses are pushing through the ground.

But it is a long time since I have been here at the beginning of the descent into cold.

I have a blue wool coat that has been hanging on the hook by the front door that I have not needed for 6 months. I have a little blue woollen cap, and a couple of feathery wool scarves. But this week I have added red gloves and long socks to my arsenal.

This week I have felt my nose go from warm and pink to frozen and in need of a cotton hanky.

Part of it has been fun.

Golly, I say to myself; It’s jolly cold out here.

Then after ten minutes standing outside Richmond Train Station I am banging my gloved hands together to keep the blood flowing and some funny drunk asks

What’s wrong with you?

 He is wearing a shirt that doesn’t quite reach his trousers no socks  and a jaunty cap.

 I’m cold, I say.

You’re soft, he says.

I lean against the radiators when I come back into the house.

I run hot baths for myself of a night.

I have bought a nightie with long sleeves.

I have traipsed up to bed with a hot water bottle under my arm.

It’s all very familiar. It goes along with soup and jigsaw puzzles and velvet curtains and hot toddy’s.

It has been an odd week. I planned my flights so I would be on solid ground for November 8^th, election day. I planned my schedule so I would be with friends who know me very well for the actual day, when I would sleep on their sofa in front of the television so I could watch it as it happened.

The bottle of Veuve Cliquot that was in the fridge, stayed in the fridge.

The following day I felt like I was in a cartoon film. A world of tall wobbling buildings and over-coloured, under-defined characters.

I went to a matinee of a play at The Hampstead Theatre.

Distract me, I asked.

I am three hours and thirty minutes long, it replied. And I have lots of words.

Oh dear, I said.

I tried to keep my eyes open. From the jet lag and indescribable sadness.

But there are leaves. And blue skies.

Hats. Gloves. Scarves.

Jokes. Stories. Good company.

The Albert Bridge. Richmond Hill.

Crystal Palace swimming pool.

Reading a great novel on the train.

Sitting on the front seat on the top level of a double decker bus.

Porridge.  Soup. Macaroni Cheese. Red wine.

Winnie the Pooh  said,

“ Nobody knows. Tiddely Pom.

How cold my toes. Tiddely Pom

Are growing.”

Winnie the Pooh knew a lot of things. I should tell him about the cashmere socks I am wearing.

A champagne life, Winnie…That’s what I got.