Everyone Calm Your Tits — A Winter Manifesto

Winter according to my dog: mandatory muddy adventures. Winter according to me: pyjamas by 5pm and zero apologies. Somewhere between these two extremes, I'm learning to embrace the chaos.

Hibernation Mode: Activated

The weather lately has turned me even more reclusive than I usually am, which is saying something! The changing of the seasons in Britain seems to take us by surprise. It feels like one moment we're moaning about yet another heatwave, and the next we're wrapped up in a million layers complaining how "this came out of nowhere!". This year has been no exception, the temperatures plummeted and my body went into full-on hibernation mode! Give me a book, a hot drink, and a blanket and I will not be moving for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, my dog doesn't see it this way. I have to force myself outside because apparently “I don’t like being cold” is not a valid reason to skip walks. I genuinely do not understand people who say they enjoy the cold. Do they have internal heating? Are they part Yeti? Maybe I'm just a pussy, who knows?!

My winter routines look mostly the same — Pilates, dog walk, daily life… just with more layers of clothing and less dignity (I slip on mud and ice, a lot). But evenings and weekends take on a whole new personality: soft lighting, candles, cosy pyjamas, and the return of board game sessions where it takes us longer to decide what we're playing than actually playing.

“I genuinely do not understand people who say they enjoy the cold. Do they have internal heating? Are they part Yeti?”

We do miss our summer adventures in the countryside — picnics, exploring, and not being pelted in the face by freezing rain — but winter brings its own magic. We have our family traditions: the Christmas tree festival at the church, strolling through Chatsworth’s dreamy holiday event, and driving around posh neighbourhoods admiring the houses who look like they're competing for attention in Whoville (if you know, you know).

And honestly? There’s a strange relief in winter. A sense that it’s perfectly acceptable to do less, rest more, and let things slow right down. Nature dropping its leaves feels like symbolism that we all need to take a break from the chaos.

Permission to Be a Cosy Gremlin

Winter feels like it should naturally be a period for rest... unless you've got a brain like mine which perversely tells me I need to be MORE productive because I'm home more! Surely now would be the perfect time to write that novel, go through every possession I own and assess whether I still need it... or should I remodel the kitchen and re-think all of my life choices?

Spoiler: no.

Having an old house means winter becomes damp management season. Drying laundry indoors is a pain in the arse and chucks more moisture into the atmosphere than a child in the bath. Every radiator has a soggy jumper draped over it like some kind of sad, polyester ghost. It’s glamorous stuff.

“Winter 7pm: absolutely fuck off. Why is anyone awake? Why is the outside world still operational?”

I pop vitamin D religiously, because in the UK we get approximately half an hour of sunlight between November and March. Yet the moment it gets dark, my body clocks out. Summer 7pm: sure, let’s go on a walk, feed the ducks! Winter 7pm: absolutely fuck off. Why is anyone awake? Why is the outside world still operational? This is bedtime behaviour.

So I have to actively give myself permission to be a cosy gremlin. Pyjamas go on the second daylight leaves the chat. Productivity? Depends. Sometimes I’m creating a cosy crochet blanket, other times the only thing I'm creating is a mess on my Animal Crossing island. Balance.

If winter could talk, I think it would say:

“Everyone calm your tits. Rest now. Do 'the thing' later.”

Spring is full of pressure to bloom and be productive. Winter is nature’s way of saying “sit down, have some hot chocolate, and chill the fuck out.”

The Secret Plot of Winter

Here’s my theory: winter is nature’s annual scheme to make everything calm the fuck down.

All the sensible creatures disappear for months. Hedgehogs? Asleep. Squirrels? Off doing acorn accounting. Meanwhile trees are like, “I’m just going to remove all my responsibilities and stand here naked for a while.” Honestly? That's a mood.

Everything looks a bit pathetic out there. Sludgy leaves, muddy shoes, gardens that resemble the set of a low-budget zombie film. But underneath all that soggy doom… stuff is happening. Roots are growing. Animals are saving energy. Nature is sneakily levelling up.

And then there’s me. Still trying to live like it’s July. Acting shocked that the sun has the audacity to disappear by 4pm. Wondering why I feel knackered when the entire hemisphere is like, “Dude. We’re on low battery mode.”

Winter isn’t failure. It’s maintenance. It’s the part where we quietly fix the bits that fell apart while we pretended to have our shit together all summer.

“Winter isn’t failure. It’s maintenance.”

This year, instead of fighting the darkness like a confused moth, I’m going to try letting it help me reset. Hide a little. Rest a little. Plant ideas I can percolate until April.

Winter is the set-up.

Spring is when we burst out of our cocoons like “SURPRISE, BITCHES”.