- In town: Broke? Blame Christmas. January sales. And Uber, which is practically compulsory now it’s so cold.
In the country: Cold? *laughs bitterly* You’re broke because the heating bill just plopped onto the icy hall floor. All £650 quid of it. - In town: Candles mean scented rooms and lingering baths… Diptyque or Jo Malone?
In the country: They’re £1.20 for a pack of 10 and they’re on your Tesco favourites list. Vital for going to the loo when the power cuts out. Again. - In town: Your sexual fantasy is, well, whatever you want it to be.
In the country: Eskimos, Victorians, basically anyone who has sex without taking their clothes off. - In the town: You dream of getting snowed in. The ultimate duvet day. *sighs longingly*.
In the country: You long to be snowed OUT. You’d need to check into a hotel for the week. You’d try that Deliveroo thing. You have it all planned. You think about this scenario a lot. - In town: A hairdryer is for drying your hair. Obviously.
In the country: It’s just another heat source. Bed warmer. Foot toaster. Good for shoving up the jumper when you’re freezing your tits off. Literally. - In town: All that light pollution, it never really gets dark.
In the country: Dark? It is dark All. The. Time. You drive to work in the pitch dark. Come home in the pitch dark. And then there’s a power cut. - In town: It’s great how you can get seasonal veg and exotic fruit all year round now.
In the country: The sum of your local shop’s fresh fruit and veg is a huge sack of muddy potatoes and some tins of sliced peaches (in syrup) on the baking shelf. They’ll get in a bag of apples round about May. - In town: You know as much about oil prices as you do the theory of quantum entanglement.
In the country: You’re a full-on speculator ready to buy and stockpile as soon as prices fall – it cost A MILLION POUNDS to fill the oil tank for the Aga last time around. - In town: You go to bed at 9pm because life is, frankly, exhausting.
In the country: You go to bed at 9pm because it’s been dark for 6 hours already and you’re so cold you’re presenting early symptoms of hypothermia. - In town: You have a winter country wardrobe to die for, all Toast jumpers and cashmere bed socks.
In the country: You smirk as the townies transform from cashmere catalogue chic to rural rag-doll in borrowed fleeces, welly socks and tartan blanket shroud. Within minutes of arrival. - In town: You wonder when we started to give storms names and who names them. Quite fun, no?
In the country: You can list the storms like old boyfriends who wreaked havoc on your life. Brian who ripped the slates of the roof. Dylan who uprooted the massive chestnut tree – just missing the house. You hear Hector may be making an appearance soon… - In town: All that jogging on pavements and pounding the treadmill, you need a knee surgeon.
In the country: Bloody good tree surgeon, that’s who you really need on speed dial. - In town: Whisky is a mistake after a big night out.
In the country: It’s just another source of heat generation – warms you on the inside. - In town: You spend all the cash you don’t have on anti-ageing products. Your Amazon orders are full of body brushes, recovery oils and hydrating skin protectors.
In the country: Forget skin, it’s survival that you’re focussed on. Amazon brings an ice scraper and snow brush combo. A snow recovery traction track. A windscreen snow protector. You unwrap these resentfully. - In town: There’s a strict shoes-off policy in your house. Who wears their shoes indoors now anyway? So gross.
In the country: Nobody in their right mind would take their shoes off in here. Five minutes in socks on those flagstones and it’s chilblains for sure. - In town: Ooh they’re selling those £1 bunches of daffs in M&S. They’ll brighten up the house. #springtime
In the country: You’re so crazed with relief after spotting your first snowdrop that you dash to the garden centre and buy 200 daffodil bulbs. They then sit in a shed for two months as you can’t be arsed to plant the ruddy things. - In town: The phrase ‘dinner party’ is enough to strike terror into every Midult heart.
In the country: There are no pubs or restaurants for miles. The hottest ticket so far was last month’s screening of The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel in the village hall – BYO Bombay mix. You NEVER turn down a dinner invitation. - In town: It’s too cold to stand outside and chat to your neighbours. You don’t see them all year until they emerge one sunny Sunday afternoon in early April.
In the country: All out, year-round charm offensive. You could call it ‘grooming’. You are excessively nice to your neighbours. Drag their bin up the drive. Pot of fresh marmalade on their doorstep. You may need these people in order to survive.
