I was a Jewel song. It is a rainy Sunday night and I walked to Tesco to find some wine to mull. Raincoat, Gemma Hayes, wallet, Marlboro Lights: we were on a mission.
I learned an important lesson: Tesco closes at 6 on Sundays, not 8, I found out when I arrived at 7. Oh.
More importantly, however, I walked. In the rain, underneath a hood and smoking. My cigarette was soaked, but refused to burn out, and I was thankful. I had to drag harder, and the little flame-cherry-that-could lit up each time. Strangely enough, I was reminded of that verse: a smouldering wick you will not snuff out. And so a cigarette became hope for a moment, and I didn't care about the wet or the dark. I was simply walking, aware.
Aware of the Christmas trees beginning to line our streets. The typically drawn curtains are open to display them. And across the street, they're setting Santa and a snowman outside an upstairs window. Illuminated plastic, waving. Hello. This is Christmas.
So. No mulled wine tonight in front of the fire. But we've still got tomato soup. Jenna even lit the incense. Cosiness enough.