C. Cold

It’s so cold my hands are freezing.  My fingers are numb and I can hardly stick them inside my gloves to warm them up.  My toes hurt from stamping in my boots to try and get some feeling back into them.  Why am I out here watching this bloody stupid game of soccer in an Irish winter?  Why didn’t I stay at home with the heater on watching an old movie on telly?

My jeans aren’t thick enough, I need long johns underneath.  I know it’s only December, but Jesus Christ it’s bitter.  I’m not used to this, not used to this at all.  The winters aren’t this bad in Sydney and if a day gets below 10 degrees celsius then no-one goes outside.  Well they do, but only to say “Fuck it’s cold out there mate.  It must be snowing in the mountains” and then they go back inside, light the fire and turn the telly on.  They don’t stay outside and they don’t go out to watch their boyfriend play soccer.  Parents do it, but only because they have to and because it’s their turn to drive their kid and 3 other mates to the match.  Then when they’ve drop each kid home afterwards, have to listen to the gleeful shouts of “Thanks for giving him a lift.  Glad it was you and not me out there today!”  Ha bloody ha, the Dad (because in this weather it’s usually always the Dad), mutters as he drives off.

Is it time yet?  Time to go?  I’d check my watch  but then I’d have to extract my hand from deep inside my jacket pocket and peel back my sleeve.  I can’t do that.  Oooh it is time!  Yippee!  I giggle like a schoolgirl and would clap my hands and jump up and down except that I’m afraid my frozen toes would shatter like glass inside my shoes.

“Do you want to go to the pub with the lads?”  my boyfriend asks.  I stop and think.  It will be warm in there – warm and toasty.  I could sink into a comfy chair and order a cup of tea.  Oh, I could almost feel the hot liquid wooshing through my icy veins straight down into my toes bringing them back to life.  I could order a lovely thick ham sandwich and hot chips and gravy and warm my cold empty belly with delicious starchy heaviness.

“Oh, I suppose so.  If you really want to” I say.


2 Comments on “C. Cold”

  1. Damyanti says:

    Gab, lovely. I love how you immerse all the senses in your writing, taking the reader to a very different place and time. You’re a gifted writer, and I’m happy I can read your stuff again.

    • Gabrielle says:

      Thanks Damyanti, you’re very kind. I’m actually having a great time doing this blog. It’s a lot of fun. Everytime I think I’ve run out of ideas something pops up. Hopefully I can keep up the momentum. I appreciate you reading my blog, your feedback means a lot.

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