Winter Coat

There’s something comforting about a good winter coat. They’re warm, protective and personally, I think everyone looks good in one.

When I touched down in London, I was without mine. Three weeks of warm weather and sunshine had rendered me blissfully ignorant to the fact that somewhere in the world – somewhere I would be returning soon – was a place in the midst of one of the coldest winters ever (or so the British keep telling me). My body, which had conveniently forgotten about low single-digit temperatures, quickly lost it and even though a full week has now past, we’re still not really talking to one another.

In turns out London is that cold. Arriving here last summer meant that I barely noticed the seasons turning from lukewarm, to cool, to Icelandic. I think that slow transition may have given me somewhat of an immunity to the true penetration of the cold. It’s kind of like that old corporate analogy – put a frog in a pot of water and turn on the hotplates and it will happily laze around in the Jacuzzi-like conditions, unaware that its insides are slowly turning to soup. However, drop that frog in a pot already boiling and the intensity will make it instantly leap out. Last Saturday, I was that frog. Except the water wasn’t so much boiling as freezing. And I was trying to leap straight back onto the plane, but apparently such rash moves don’t go down well with airport security.

In fairness to London, I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t want to carry a suitcase full of heavy sweaters and coats across the world so I’d packed a light jumper and jacket to wear on my return. What a fool! I convulsed the whole way home, thinking I’d rather be anywhere else than here.

Returning to work only reinforced that train of thought. I spent my first morning questioning why I hadn’t been born into significant wealth, so I could spend my days sailing the Mediterranean and frequenting celebrity hotspots. But I suppose returning to work after a holiday is depressing for everyone. I’ve never met anyone who’s said, ‘thank god that holiday is over. I can’t wait to catch up on emails’. (If you are that person then I don’t think we can be friends anymore.)

My first week back was made more arduous than perhaps necessary due to my required presence at an all-day workshop. One of the presenters started by nonchalantly informing us “I know there’s too much information on this slide, and the text is too small, and you won’t read it, but it’s worth putting up anyway.”

No, it’s not.

There is too much information and the text is too small. And NO! I’m not going to read it. It hurts! It makes me want to scour my eyeballs with the complimentary stationary and move to the mountains where I can raise goats and be far, far away from your masochistic abuse of technology!

My death stares did little to dissuade her from going through each bullet point in detail, proving that there was, in fact, no worth to the slide after all. Perhaps I’m being a little harsh. But I’d just returned from an amazing trip and frankly, this was not the snap to reality I needed.

I’ve been reminding myself that I’ve had the same feelings in the past when I’ve returned to Australia. Over the years I’ve ventured north many times, visiting exciting places and experiencing warmer climates. And every time I returned to Melbourne, I was struck by how cold it was and how Europeans have it so much better. I also harboured significant ill will over the requirement to return to work.

So I think what I have is just a touch of the post-holiday blues rather than anything more sinister. It’s funny, I’ve eagerly anticipated trips to London so many times in the past. But as soon as London becomes home, and I have responsibilities, it all becomes a bit of a drag. I suppose life can’t always be a holiday.

Or can it? I’m in New York in just over a month. I’m going to Spain and Venice as well. I’m turning 30 (I’m totally at peace with it), which of course means parties. And London life is quickly reminding me that there are things to be done here that simply aren’t possible down south.

There’s plenty to distract me from the realities of work, and the cold, until the summer frivolity rolls around. And in the meantime, I’ve got a good winter coat.