Wet winter weather lowers the mood as we stagger towards the end of 2020. A year ago we met up with friends and mourned the 2019 election result together, we had no idea then of the year that was to follow.
A week ago, we were fortunate to meet up with the same friends. We enjoyed the most substantial of meals: hearty pies, served with gravy, chips and vegetables. Wrapped in blankets, we sat beneath a heated gazebo in a pub car park. Rain bounced around us, but it was worth it for their company and the normality of a pre-Christmas lunch.
Uncertainty and worry of a post-Brexit wilderness dominates the news. The footpaths of the town’s edge lands are lost under a thick layer of mud. Against that gloom the lights in town shine brightly this year. Businesses, shops, and homes all seem to have made that extra effort to decorate ahead of scaled down celebrations. We made it through the second lockdown, emerging into the strangest of Advent seasons.
At the end of this year, so much harder for some than for others; we don’t know what next year will bring, we never do. But first we knew we would have Christmas, and that is something that this granny has always loved to celebrate. We were looking forward to five days with our family. We knew that there were risks. But we had made a choice to manage the risk. Suddenly, the guidance is changed; five days reduced to just one for us. Elsewhere in the country, a total ban on meeting.
We will make the most of our day together. Apart from that, we can wrap up warm and meet outside; knowing that we have warm homes to which we can return. We will acknowledge and mourn what we had planned and hoped for. But we must not let that prevent us from celebrating what remains.