A Twilight Evocation

Colds, I realise, are almost more nostalgic and evocative to me than the festive time of year. While the artist has not entirely given up on being an artist for a few days - she is doing a small drawing of the children from the sad interfaith marriage breakdown I mentioned not so long ago - there is a kind of turning down of the volume, a cessation of creativities, a nulling of the void. This is probably why I am left to roam dangerously from the plot into the orbit of pure nostalgia. It was with my dear grandmother for example that I first remember colds and this time of year. The central heating would be up, the carpets would feel softer than usual, the three dogs would be lounging on the rug, and various beautiful and old decorations from across the sea would be placed with years of experience and a kind of coded strategy about the room. My head would be placed across a bowl of hot water and menthol sometimes and a towel draped over. Like the TV, such memories are largely in black and white, but I always remember the crisp and shiny greenness of the holly. I suppose there was nothing that unusual going on, apart from the absence of my parents, and I am happy to report a great kindness in the air, concealing at least for the duration of the festive period any deep-rooted woe. Father figures for me had James Stewart voices, you may like to hear, and not for example John Wayne's, though John Wayne was probably guarding the parameters of the garden at the time. And whenever the door opened and we all received a blast of cold wind from the sea and highlands, instead of rushing back inside again, sniffling and self-piteous, we would feel invigorated, reformed, and strangely grateful. Walks were regular, of course. These were often along white beaches by crashing waves on jagged dark rocks. Seabirds would fly low and slow across the tumultuous currents, occasionally turning their heads in greeting. Privately, I longed for boats on the horizon and whenever I saw one - sometimes they dropped anchor in the middle of nowhere to wait out the storm rather than risk smashing against the pier - I was right there with the people on that boat, rocking about like a present in a box, a cold. Peril. Sea. For those in.