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A love letter to winter.

I gaily (but quietly, I hope) skipped down the stairs at 5:30am this morning. I put on my trainers, I filled up my water bottle. I fumbled around for my house key which, regrettably, is still only attached to one tiny keyring (Lego Voldemort) and slips away from my fingers much too easily, especially when I am wearing a glove.

My eyes flicked mechanically over to the CCTV screen (as it does prior to any time I leave the house, in case there’s a murderer waiting for me) and I immediately did a double take: I could only see a spectral wooosh of blurred white.

I walked back over to the window and peeled aside the netting to find that the street was covered in a thick blanket of fog. Nice, I thought. I checked myself – surely I should have recoiled? Surely I should be grimacing and clutching my chest and saying ‘what is this? I should be asleep. I can’t do it.’? But I wasn’t. There was no plea to return to the warm sanctity of my bed. There was simply alertness in my brain and elation in my heart: I was genuinely happy to be leaving the house. Whilst I have never been one to begrudge the dawn (I’ve always been an early bird, even when it’s dark), I sensed a change from the difficult mornings I had a few weeks ago as my body adjusted. I realised, in the gradual arrival of the end of the year, I had been factory reset to my default setting.

Hi babybotoxlifter,

I hope this letter finds you in the midst of a groundbreaking, spirit-awakening culinary creation involving oats. Just thought I’d take some time out of my day to write to you; I’m exhausted after spending nine hours in front of a computer screen, so apologies if you see any typos.

First, let me start by expressing my deepest admiration for your morning routine, your ability to redefine breakfast entirely. The way you do it is so *chefs kiss*; from the freshest ingredients straight from Waitrose, to the way you ethereally put the dish together. I would never have thought it could improve my mental health to slow right down and take the time to procure a healthy, nutritious bowl; your invention of turmeric oats with lashings of agave syrup, hemp seeds and dragon fruit seems nothing short of a masterpiece that makes for a transcendental experience. And well done for discovering cinnamon sprinkled over apples – ground-breaking! I don’t believe anybody has thought of anything so innovative before, so thank you for showing us all about it in your perfectly posed selfie video.

Unfortunately, as I peel my eyelids apart and stumble out of bed at 5:30am, my morning is less magical. Most days I can only muster a quick, sad, film-topped coffee before I jolt out of the door to catch a train that smells of sweaty gym socks. Sometimes I manage buttered toast, if I’m feeling fancy.

I also applaud your commitment to dragging yourself away from the comfort of your post-breakfast reading time in your perfectly made cream bed to then reposition your camera in your pilates studio. Your very own pilates studio! I wish I didn’t have to share a gym with sweaty men who grunt during every rep. When the clock strikes 1pm, I am not donned in a cute, matching gym set. Instead, I find myself sat at a hot desk (that I had to book three weeks ago to secure, mind you!) convincing myself this £5 prawn cocktail sandwich from M&S was worth sacrificing a flat white from Caffe Nero for the office beans. In this moment, I am not gracefully extending opposing legs and arms and letting go of all negative thoughts. Instead, I find myself thinking this could have been an email. I could have been spared the torture of being trapped in a conversation about your children if you had just emailed me but saying ‘oh, I can’t believe it’s Monday again already! Honestly, where does the time go.’

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