I know Spring needs to do all its wonderful stuff when I:
- feel so melancholy that I listen to ‘Now We are Free’ from the end of ‘Gladiator’ – the bit when he meets his Mrs in the afterlife.
- prompted by the poignant tones of Lisa Gerrard’s melody, start sobbing at the memory of Russell Crowe’s character dying a violent and terrible death.
- watch ‘Queer Eye’ every evening and cry. Every episode.
- start eating pistachio nuts as though my life depends on it.
- subscribe to Gaia.
- try to meditate but just fall asleep.
- post on facebook about everything, from nice dogs to aprons.
- wish I lived in Morocco, Spain, Tanzania, Australia or anywhere warm.
- lift my face to the weak, winter sun and beg it to be warmer.
- eat mashed potatoes for breakfast.
- have a hot, bubbly bath every evening and sit in it until I wrinkle, adding hot top-ups every time it stops burning my skin.
- am unable to speak until I’ve had 3 cups of coffee.
- fall in love with Abby Wambach in a creepy way.
- fall in love with Glennon Doyle too but feel jealous that she has Abby.
- wonder if I have a droopy eyelid and keep staring at my face to check.
- read Rupi Kaur poems and (surprise!) cry.
- get feet that resemble something from the Jurassic age.
- get armpits that would scare off a burglar.
- enjoy cleaning because it warms me up in the house.
- stare obsessively at the smart meter and turn off every plug socket in the house.
- wear three layers at all times indoors and out.
- wear socks that my boots won’t go over.
- get a wine problem.
- get a whisky problem.
- keep looking on Ebay for the Lucy and Yak boilersuit that will fix everything.
- find cute pictures of the people who share my genes and who, luckily, haven’t inherited my winter grumpiness.
Silverstreaks 