The cold weather and I are getting on famously. Mostly because it facilitates my desire to wear my amazing fur hat Derek (as named by chocolatier
Paul A. Young - I wanted to call it Coco, he said don't be stupid and thus a beautiful hat was christened a horrible name).
However, my enjoyment of the so-called big freeze goes deeper than its accompanying sartorial benefits. The drop in temperature means I can stay at home, curled up with a book and not feel guilty about the fact I'm missing something I promised ("I'll be there! I promise!") to attend.
And this is taking me beyond contentment, mostly because I'm re-reading my
Roald Dahl collection.
Was there ever a children's writer with greater understanding of how to make you feel excited/ scared/ sore from laughter? You can imagine him penning every sentence trying to suppress giggles. At the moment, I'm tearing through his second autobiography Going Solo.
Dahl's descriptions of Brits in Africa and his own efforts to round up - upon instruction from the army - Germans at the beginning of the Second World War are priceless. ("I'm just the man who works for Shell!" he protests, having never been a soldier. "Don't let us down," says the ever-so-British sergeant.)
Yet the punctuating excerpts of letters to his mother remind you of the anxiety of separation and how precarious life was during WW2. Next I'm moving on to Revolting Rhymes (my personal favourite) and after that, Matilda - the only thing that put a smile on my face when I was living on a barge in Norfolk and had food poisoning.
After those two, I might pick up The Twits - although that particular story had a rather adverse affect on my childhood breakfast habits. The bit about cornflakes being stuck in a character's beard has resulted in a lifelong repulsion of the classic cereal.
The thing with books by Dahl is everyone has one they treasure. You can remember when you first cracked the spine, where you were and how you felt. Those books feel personal. Yes, you know millions of other people got to them before you, but it doesn't matter. Each reading feels magical.
And so, this is my prescription for the cold weather. Take a book - Esio Trot, Boy, The BFG - whatever one was your favourite. Add a cup of tea and a warm blanket. And enjoy a night of pure contentment in the literary companionship of the wonderful Mr Roald Dahl.