Winter wonderland

 Winter wonderland.

It is normally the time of the year when most of us withdraw into deep reflection and contemplation of the year as it wends its way slowly towards its close. Then, for reasons that may seem obvious and not quite so understandable, we become withdrawn, reclusive, comfortable, warm and cosy. An overwhelming air of sad, sullen moroseness quite obviously hangs heavy on the homeless, neglected, the marginalised classes whose voices are never heard, the ones who sleep on street or park benches alone. We will never be able to know what may be going through their heads. 

And then we probably feel sorry for ourselves because it is indeed winter and all of those vibrant summer parties and family barbecues are nothing but yesterday's chip paper. We retreat into ourselves, switch the heating on, pull a blanket or two over ourselves in front of the TV and just feel tired, reflective, completely lacking in any desire or ambition. Of course we've got the perfect job or car, a family unit we'll always cherish. But then we'll look at the all enveloping darkness outside our windows at five o clock in the evening and wish summer had never even considered leaving us with its glorious warmth. 

Last Sunday morning we suddenly discovered that the clocks had gone back and we were not in the least surprised. It's something we've grown accustomed to for as long as we can remember, the transitional period of the year when summer makes way for autumn and then winter. Our body clocks should be used to this yearly occurrence and yet, as a kid, you took it for granted that when you woke up for school in the morning, it was both dark, foggy and misty, the milk floats were rattling and the postman or woman was up at the crack of dawn. 

But that failed to disguised the awkward realisation that seven o'clock in the morning still felt like midnight and you simply didn't abandon yourselves to the joys of academic life at roughly the time the owls make that familiar nocturnal hooting noise outside your bedroom window. And yet you went to school in the dark and invariably came home as the fading light of tea time made way for an early night. It almost felt as though daylight had somehow become rationed and you'd had no time to enjoy the remnants of the winter sunshine. 

It was always thus. And then we were regaled with that same old urban myths or maybe the truths. We may have been told repeatedly that the clocks only went back at the end of October because Scottish farmers insisted that the cows had to be milked at a certain time. Those self same cows were never consulted for their considered opinion on daylight and night time. Can you imagine a herd of Friesian cows debating the merits and demerits of waking up when they were told to?

Anyway here we are again and shortly the rampant cash tills of commercialism will be ringing fiercely and furiously as thousands of supermarket trolleys are taken for a paso doble around vast food and drink emporiums. In a couple of days it'll be Halloween, the season when energetic kids will be running around the roads and streets of Britain, knocking on doors quite enthusiastically and then expecting a wad of money for their sterling endeavours. 

Then we'll look up at the dark wintry sky and pretend we can see huge communities of witches on their broomsticks flying around at the rate of knots. Meanwhile, back at home, families across the country will be sipping warm bowls of pumpkin soup. Those same children will be carving eyes and ears out of the pumpkins and lighting candles inside them. It is all rather strange, pagan, mysterious, fun in a roundabout kind of way but baffling because it's hard to see the point of it all. Still, maybe you've reached an age where you don't really care anyway. 

And then next week another ritualistic event makes its yearly appearance. Guy Fawkes Night is almost as old as time, a night of loud, deafening, boisterous, noisy fireworks. We do this every year without questioning it. Then we're almost resigned to its perennial soundtrack of bang, crash, scream and laugh before intensifying its volume a million fold. Suddenly the sparklers will be whizzed around with much hilarity and dad will tell his children to stand well back before the Ferris wheels and rockets are launched to their highest altitude. 

The organised fireworks party was always a wheeze, the funniest of all revelations, confirmation of your childhood and never disappointing. But as a grandfather now, Guy Fawkes night is no longer the source of fascination it might have been when you were five or six. But you're grandson and grandchildren will shortly be introduced to the delights of fireworks, that riotous round of pyrotechnics that soar into the night sky before spinning cartwheels and then spluttering into a damp squib. 

Shortly November will be with us again and November just seems to race away into the distance because by now most of us will be inundated with the Christmas spirit. Oh yes that festival. We mustn't forget Christmas because we've always remembered and never forgotten it. It just seems to creep insidiously into our imagination like a ghost that suddenly haunts a medieval castle. And yet here we are at the end of October and the weeks, months and the whole year has just gone far too quickly. 

Then we'll huddle around the TV and watch the always glamorous Strictly Come Dancing because that's a must, a necessity because the it's colourful, spectacular, glitzy and sparkly. It is that chandelier light in our living rooms when outside it looks as if a huge chunk of charcoal has arrived outside on our doorsteps. The street lights are on at full amber, the gorgeous reflections of rain water can be seen for miles and the atmosphere out there has radically changed for the better. 

Of course this may be debatable but you can't help but think that you're cosy and healthy, protected from the cascades of rain that pour in Biblical torrents for much of the season. Rain is soothing to the ear, comforting if sleep isn't immediately forthcoming. Rain is good for the crops for those in the agricultural industry, it was an outstanding short story written by Somerset Maugham many decades ago and yes folks it's time to embrace the beauties of the passing seasons and just smile for the camera. Enjoy, folks.