Doing battle with daily dragons

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Burrowing Instincts

Sweet merciful god, it’s colder than a snake’s ass in January outside.

There is something deeply uncomfortable about cold. As creative mammals, we try to bring our own solutions to inhospitable climates, but rarely ever get past the quick fix; the space heater, a giant marshmellowy parka, hot chocolate. None of these comforts can actually get us past the fact that we are trapped in our burrows for the winter, waiting desperately for spring to arrive. There are exceptions to this burrowing instinct, however. I pass women on the high street on weekend nights, layers of toned flesh exposed to the elements and wonder how they manage to look so composed when every last fibre of their being must be screaming out for an arctic fleece and a pair of salopets. An outfit that would reduce their chances of pulling, but might improve their chances of getting home without fanny frostbite.

I’ve always thought that humans are more in their element when the mercury rises above 85 degree F or so. We were born in the cradle of the world in Africa; why shouldn’t we relish our sweat and sensuality? A perverse part of me likes the feeling of blood and air temperature meeting even if it means wilting like a flower.

Oh my goodness, I could just die right now from wanting summer to happen. English winters are bad for me, bad for you, bad for everybody. Bad, bad, bad.