December 2010
As every schoolboy knows the earth’s axis of rotation is tilted with regard to its orbital plane. This disturbance may have been caused by a cataclysmic collision between two or more decaying black holes a few zillion years ago, we don‘t really know (how could we?)
However, be that as it may, the ‘tilt’ has had a profound effect on our environment, life-style, prosperity (or otherwise), and even our Arts and Culture.
If we had no ‘tilt’ we would have no seasons. Depending on just where in the world one lived it would be either all spring and summer or all autumn and winter.
Obviously, if winter was hanging around long enough someone would be sure to start writing about it, as, in fact, a gent called William Shakespeare did eventually.
Winters tales come in all shapes and sizes of course; for example a certain Herr Adolph Hitler got a tale he could well have managed without when he made his badly judged decision to invade Russia in the cold part of 1940; ah well! We all make mistakes; (the problem was: the Russians did not quite agree with his plans.)
Old Tom wasn’t thinking about these profound lines as he trudged through the ever deepening snow up the narrow lane towards the cottage.
Apart from the sudden change in the weather the whole scenario of approaching Xmas didn’t exactly fill him with joy: almost a whole week’s loss of pay (why couldn’t they bring in something called holiday pay or something?) Then he was expected to actually spend money buying un-wanted presents for people he didn’t like in the first plece; he sometimes felt like saying, ‘Bah, Humbug!’ but he suppressed the inclination, remembering he was supposed to radiate the nice old uncle and grandfather image at this time of year.
To be honest though he knew he would be pleased to see his daughter Mary again, once a year not being too frequent to strain friendliness severely, the children were not too bad, by modern standards; they were quiet and didn’t swear all of the time. But the son-in-law!
If ever he needed an excuse to cancel Christmas and possibly emigrate it was Andrew.
Ever since he got that so-called promotion to second assistant deputy to the chief of Screwem Banking Corporation he thinks he’s God’s gift to the financial world. He wasn’t very sufferable before but now he verges on the impossible.
But! Hey Ho, it’s Christmas. Show time.
‘Hello, Andrew, old son. Very nice to see you . . . Hope you’re not too overworked in those ‘corridors of power.’
‘And nice to see you too, Tom . . . Still scraping a living I hope. . . . Yes, Mary‘s fine, she’s in the kitchen just now . . .’
In the cosy surroundings and by the radiated warmth from the log fire, Tom began to think this could be nice Christmas after all. But Andrew’s next pronouncement did not enhance the pleasant feeling. It transpired he had recently been converted to a Healthy Life Style.
One result on this occasion was that we were all to be treated to the joys of a vegetarian dinner on Christmas day and no turkey, roast beef or even sausages; and if this was not enough to make us miserable, it had been decreed that the ‘Demon Drink’ would not be putting in an appearance today.
‘You’ve no idea, Tom, what harm alcohol is doing inside your body.’ preached Andrew. (Don’t care more like, I thought.)
Just as it seemed we had reached the bottom of this exciting itinerary and I was consoling myself with the thought that at least religion was not being dragged onto the scene this year, Andrew enquired in that grating voice of his, 'Would anyone mind if we watched the church service and Carrols from Birmingham Cathedral?’
And so it went on. By this time I was counting the hours. I finally managed to get away at Lunch-time on Boxing Day (some excuse about forgetting to feed the cat).
Terminally bored, but healthy, I was escaping to freedom - for another year, my step was lighter and the snow didn’t seem so deep.