At the risk of sounding like one of those attention-seeking hypochondriacs who suffers from every trendy illness that ever comes up on the middle class malady menu, I suspect I may be a hopeless victim of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I hate autumn and winter, I love spring and summer and I just can’t see the point of being alive in any month that ends in ‘ber’. For me these months might as well end in ‘brrr’ because they’re all cold and dark. I went to see the doctor about my problem once and he told me I was a SAD case but we hadn’t even touched on the subject of sunlight deficiency. He’s obviously very astute! Any road, I don’t want to bang on about it and sound like a whinger but I thought I ought to tell you before I go any further.
So I also think I have another condition which I like to call vernal disease. There is only one real symptom and that is an absolute infatuation for springtime. As soon as we pass the shortest day in December it starts to take effect and it just moves from mild to acute to chronic as the early part of the year progresses and it continues until it clears up completely on the summer solstice. Things like the nights getting lighter, bulbs coming up in the garden, frogs going at it like rabbits in my pond, rabbits going at it like frogs in the fields, money off vouchers from garden centres being shoved through my letterbox and cuckoos emerging from their clocks all accelerate the onset of my disorder.
At 11.02 today we celebrated the vernal equinox in the northern hemisphere. I had a street party. What did you do? This day is looked upon as the first day of spring and it always makes my SAD little heart jump for joy and my vernal disease became febrile.
I absolutely love a good vernal equinox no matter what happens, though I was quite startled by a couple of incidents that took place today as I went about my duties, they being:
a) One of my favourite customers, Mave, gave me a thick, woollen scarf that she had hand knitted for me. She said she had made it because I always look so cold (and today was a very cold day). I’ve lost a few pounds just lately so in the space where my chins used to meet my belly I now have a neck to put my lovely new woolly garment around and I had to admit that I felt warm for the first time in a good while. But by the time I see Mave again in six weeks the weather will have warmed up a bit. Will she be offended if I’m not wearing it?
b) At lunch time I had forty minutes to spare so I wandered into a pub called the Bear in the Bear Flat area of Bath for a cuppa and a read of my book. As I sipped on a cup of the strong and black they were playing shit music to drown out the racket of the irritating, spoilt, undisciplined, little twats of children who had been dragged in there by yummy-mummies desperate for a caffeine fix. However, I was utterly amazed that one of the tracks that came on was even worse than the noise of the satanic toddlers. Why was a pub in Bath playing Mistletoe & Wine by Cliff Richard on the 20th March? Perhaps they had put on their Now That’s What I Call Christmas CD instead of their Now That’s What I Call The Vernal Equinox CD by mistake.
Oh I wish it could be the vernal equinox every day!
The pub in Bath where I strangled unruly children
with my new scarf.