A Matter of Perception Again.

I was in a bad mood tonight – a bit miffed because my little abode isn’t quite as cosy as I feel it ought to be. The wind was moaning around the house, the rain was battering the windows, and there was a warm fire burning in the living room. I went and sat by it while I checked the TV schedules, and that was when I became uncomfortable.

This is an old house, and whatever measures you take to seal the doors and windows, old houses still manage to be draughty. So there I was, being warmed by the fire on one side but with the other feeling the cold breath of a chilly airflow. Such a condition feels invasive; it feels like the elements are getting at you come what may.

I decided that the best solution would be to go for a walk as usual, so that’s what I did. And when you’ve been out walking for half an hour on a wild, wet and windswept night with the temperature down close to freezing – and especially when the driving rain is turning to driving sleet on the way back – coming into even a draughty house feels truly like making port in a storm.

I just finished a mug of hot tea, so now I’m going to sit by the fire again and start reading my latest acquisition: Jane Eyre this time. I expect there’ll be a fair bit of wild, wet and windswept in that, too. And I bet the houses will be draughtier than mine.