In Cold Blood
Maggie Simpson was a January baby, no doubt about it.
January babies of the Northern Hemisphere are always cold. Particularly cosseted first children like me born in January, who are wrapped like little sausage rolls from the second they push their little nose out past the perineum straight into layers of wool and towelling and anorakage. For the first six months of their lives they are bound Sarchophagus-like in blankets and quilting, topped off with woolly bonnets and then squeezed into a contraption that is a hybrid coat and sleeping bag. Their skin doesn’t see the sun or feel the air til July, a good seven months after having the vernix washed off it.
When I heard that Michael Jackson had nick named his kid Blanket, I thought, “That should have been my name…”
So I’m cold. Yes, yes, we all are, but I am particularly cold because I’m a January baby and no amount of clothing is ever enough to warm me up. I’ve been away recently to Disneyland and Paris where it was colder than the chest freezer of Satan in his Hades home, and this is what I wore from skin outwards:
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A bra (woot woo)
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A thermal strappy vest
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A long sleeved thermal vest
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A long-sleeved t-shirt
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A short sleeved t-shirt ( I only put it on cos it was there)
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A cashmere jumper
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Another cashmere jumper
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Woolly tights (Regulation issue for all Scottish women past October)
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Jeans
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Four cheese baguettes for sneaking into Disneyland strapped to my body (they don’t let you bring food in but their’s is shit and costs £50 per item and you have to speak French to get it from them)
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A leather jacket
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A padded coat
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Hat
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Gloves
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Scarf (wound around torso for warmth)
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Another scarf (for decorative purposes)
Someone actually thought I was one of the Disney characters I was that padded. I let them take my photo and said nothing.
So I’m a cold January baby born 7th January. I won’t be blogging tomorrow as the mid-life
crisis officially begins and apparently that’s quite time consuming…..
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