|Breughal's peasants doing what needs must|
If the dog days of summer are the hottest and most sultry then how to name their wintry counter-part? The dog days of winter coming after the winter solstice between Christmas festivities and the crank up to New Year celebrations are, frankly, dull. The weather is dull; the sky is low and white. Facebook posts are increasingly lethargic as they valiantly proclaim: ‘look, we had a good time.’
The winter hangover is upon us and limbs are heavier than heads. This is not rest, it is convalescence. Time is standing still and the days have lost their values. The future is on hold. For now. And, oh no, we still have the annual reprise of last year’s events. There will be formulaic radio and television magazine programmes assembled, like the worst Power Point presentations, by jaded producers who will press ‘run slideshow’ and quietly leave the room. Manic researchers will publish the results of their having counted the counting; as if that is some measure of quality.
Work is difficult to re-start. Accepting the automatic assumption that rich food must be consumed to the exclusion of anything crisp and green and even remotely connected with a wholesome outdoor breeze, I find myself lingering skurvily over my keyboard; dullness and dehydration dampening every sense.
To arms! There must be salad stuff; it must be eaten cold with nothing more than a sprinkling of salt. Limp parsley must be plunged into iced water. Iced water must be trickled between parchment lips. Rehydration will occur and with it, the glory that is New Year Resolutions. Oh joy.