çok soğuk
Once again the biting cold dismantles another piece of my romantic vision of premodernity — those dreams of the self-sufficient homestead farm fed by spring waters and warmed by the wood burning stove that account for many a wasted moment of my youth. Here I sit in the kitchen before such a stove, warming myself ever so slightly, the cold air of the rest of the house still reaching me here. There is electricity, satellite TV and an internet connection, but no central heating and vast windows that let the warmth pass out through the ample panes and drafts whistle in through the gaps in the aged wooden frames.
Snow has already settled on a nearby forested mountain just along the valley. All around, neighbours are preparing for a long, cold winter, felling trees and splitting logs to fuel their fires. And here, the fan on my laptop barely bothers to whir as it usually does, the AMD chip already nicely chilled. Yes, it is cold here. Each night when I go to bed I wear two pairs of trousers, three jumpers and a woolly hat on my heard, before wrapping myself in a duvet and a fleasy blanket. Wudu in the morning is an icy affair. Romantic visions indeed.
I confess that when I return to my home, I shall gladly put the central heating to good use, even if the price of gas now causes concern. Have we become soft and unreasonable, or is warmth a true necessity? I suppose for many it is a luxury — could the radiator be for many what the iPad is for others? How will the homeless spend this winter? The cold will take numerous souls over the coming months.
No doubt the cold gives the leather-faced ones their character. No doubt the long winters separate the real men from us pretenders. No doubt with such hardship comes a special kind of ease in the long run. But I am used to another kind of ease: washing machines, water on tap, the combi-boiler, gas cookers, the family car and so much more have lifted the burdens past generations bore en masse. Today’s world is a world away from anything ever known in earlier times. Despite my adolescent visions of a romantic past, I think I am too far removed to ever return.
But then, who knows what the future holds? War, poverty, economic collapse, environmental degradation… perhaps it is useful to remind myself of another kind of living. You never know when everything is going to change.


a fleasy blanket
A play on words? A flea infested fleece. Very clever young Timster!
— noted by Abdul Rashid son of Jeffrey 11:43 am on 10th November, 2011 .
I wish I was as clever as you think I am. Alas, tis my lousey spelling, ba-boom.
— noted by Timothy Bowes 10:47 pm on 4th January, 2012 .