Normally January is a long, dull month, purging Christmas sparkle and calorie-laden food with bare walls and cereal bars. Days are spent scampering from one heated building to another under a dull sky. I usually suffer from the January blues.
My first Bermudian January was cold and grey. I was still finding my feet, searching for points of certainty. The January blues came along in my suitcase. This year there were no blues – only brights. Instead of being wrapped up in jumpers and blankets indoors, we spent weekends paddling along the shore, exploring rock pools, walking through nature reserves and eating ice creams!
Given that the previous 27 Januarys I’ve endured have called for enough layers to make me rival the Michelin Man, I overdressed for the first two weeks, because it was JANUARY and therefore WINTER and therefore IMPOSSIBLE to survive outdoors without two jumpers and a scarf. Then, when it finally sank in that it was rather warm, I felt that we had to get out there and MAKE THE MOST OF EVERY SECOND before the opportunity disappeared with the setting sun, forgetting that tomorrow would be yet another beautiful day. It seems my conditioning from a lifetime of cold and changeable weather in the UK will take a little longer for me to shake off!
Whilst the warm sunshine has been a luxury, I did have a pang for home when pictures of snow-covered streets started to pop up on Facebook. I didn’t miss the train delays, the slippery pavements, or the chilly bathroom at 6am on a weekday. But I really missed looking out of the window to see a flawless carpet of white, branches iced in snowflakes, and the satisfaction of feet crunching footprints. Bermuda may have perennial blue skies, but it will never see a snowflake.