Colds and Chills

We did our best to stir ourselves into some Xmas spirit - walking in the dark and cold to the church steps and listening to the community choir singing carols (is Jingle Bells a carol?), joining in with words we could remember and, in my case, jingling the bells I was offered 

I wore four thick layers, a wooly hat and serious gloves from the Isle of Mull. After half an hour, the cold from the north-east wind was getting through and fingers were going numb. Mulled wine and mince pies were on offer indoors (MrsM has inside knowledge that the choir is so well attended that it makes an embarrassing profit). We declined - thinking how many people we know who are suffering from viruses. Is this post-Covid thinking or third-age thinking? 

As my fingers warmed on the walk home, I thought about the Shelter announcement that more than one-third of a million people in England are homeless, almost half of them children; a 14% increase in a year. I would have no idea what to do; no idea how I would survive even a single night like this one (and it's not that cold, still above zero). MrsM met someone selling The Big Issue outside the village shop - the first time ever. So much is wrong

The birds are feeling the hard times too. There are often robins in the garden, but not usually this attentive. He hoped my 15 minutes with a hedge trimmer might include turning some soil and exposing something to eat, but left disappointed. A plastic bucket is not Xmas card material, but a visit from the icon of mid-winter hope and cheer lifted my spirits