Cold At Present

Several years ago, Carole’s birthday came and went and her presents did not.

Since that day, however many years ago, Carole has made a point of mentioning it as often as she can. The year she got not presents. And the year that I waited until after her birthday, told her what they were and then ordered them once I knew she’d like them.


I didn’t do that at all.

I relied on the vagaries of the postal system to deliver me things from the internet (wherever that is located) to the door here. They didn’t come through for me, despite me not leaving it until the last minute or anything. I mean, you think I’d voluntarily put myself through the misery of having this brought up every year.

This year is panning out to be the same because of the bloody snow.

I have presents on their way. But they are coming very, very slowly because the whole transport infrastructure of the country has ground to a cold and icy halt. Nothing is happening.

Which means I am in danger of having another of Carole’s birthdays where I am the bad guy and she’ll think that I haven’t ordered anything. I want the snow to disappear just enough for a small Polish man in a van to get through and knock upon the door bearing parcels of wonderment.

But I fear it’s not going to happen. As the winds whip the cold air down the chimney and more parts of the country have red warnings over them because even putting a toe outside of a duvet could be fatal I’m left looking like a shit boyfriend because I didn’t bank on The Day After Tomorrow happening the week before Carole’s birthday.

And even if I provide her with this explanation and point out of the window at the snow and the ice and the wolves coming in across the frozen seas, she’ll still think that I haven’t ordered anything.

I’ll prepare my bed in the doghouse…