Christmas is not just a story of hope; it is hope

Last Thursday, just like that, we slipped into December and Christmas loomed large on the horizon. I’m not sure where 2022 went. It feels to have been a mere blink of an eye since I was writing about my #earlyrisersclub friend Kenny Gibson getting his MBE and me enjoying walking on our beach. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at how fast the year has flown past. Much has happened, and continues to happen that we simply weren’t expecting. The most poignant, sad and evil event, was of course, the invasion of Ukraine. It happened just 53 days after I posted that first 2022 blog. It is a truly devastating war; a war that has now lasted 284 days and which shows no sign of ending.

There were a few occasions last week when I stopped and thought about the devastation, the destruction and the complete disregard for human rights that the war has brought to the lives of the Ukrainian people. For example, last Wednesday I was, for the second time, outside in the bitter cold, up a ladder, fingers and ears numb with the biting arctic wind, putting up Christmas lights. I had done it once already this year with what I thought were stunning coloured lights, lights that slowly changed colour and almost made the house glow.

I found myself up the ladder again for a second time as J had reminded me that she really only liked white lights. I grew frustrated that my cold fingers were making the task twice as long and cursed J for not telling me her preference before I put the first lot of lights up. 

But I had a sudden thought about the folk in Ukraine, where life was already becoming more miserable and unbearable because of the fast approaching winter weather. I wondered if families there were getting ready for Christmas and what Christmas would be like for them? My cold hands and grumpy thoughts paled into insignificance in just thinking about what they are going through. 

Mind you, Friday morning I woke up in what felt like to me as the coldest bedroom I had ever slept in. The previous evening I had attended the #PennineCarePeople awards celebration held in the centre of Manchester. I was pleased to have been invited by my Pennine Care NHS FT colleagues and the night was a huge success. It was a celebration of both great team working and innovation, with a sprinkling of the downright quirky too. The evening was hosted by the Paralympian Gold medallist, Aaron Phipps, a very humorous and courageous person. His story was humbling. Knowing I would probably have a glass or two of wine with my meal, I booked a room in a nearby hotel.

My choice of hotel was influenced by price. Big mistake! At one time the hotel must have been a grand place, but sadly had fallen into both disrepute, and disrepair. The queue for check-in moved at a snail’s pace, taking well over 25 minutes to get to the front desk. My room was on the 6th floor, the lift only went to the 5th floor. Not the greatest of starts. And the room was cold. There was a radiator, but no way of controlling the heat. It was off. Ever the optimist, I assumed things would get better, so I changed and made my way to the award celebrations.

On my return, I was glad I had drunk those couple of glasses of wine, as the room felt like a morgue. It was freezing cold. There was no-one on reception and no-one answered the room phone. So reluctantly I got undressed and got into bed. Despite the cold, and possibly thanks to those aforementioned glasses of wine, I did manage to fall asleep. In the morning I awoke shivering. I thought a lovely hot shower would warm me up, but alas, like the lift, the hot water didn’t quite make it up to the 6th floor.

I had been somewhere similar before. I once lived in rural Wales. I had a smallholding and we lived in a very old farm cottage. Whilst the large kitchen felt the benefit from a Rayburn cooking range, the rest of the cottage had no heating at all. In winter, the insides of the windows would freeze up and the children would sleep under mountains of quilts. It was always a relief to rush downstairs and get warm in front of the Rayburn in the morning.

As I sat nursing a hot cup of tea in that hotel room, I wondered how many children in Ukraine would be waking up to a cold house, with no electricity or hot running water. Likewise, as we experience the first real frosts of the year, I wondered how many children and families in the UK would also be waking up to a cold house each day. Of course, we are not caught up in the realities of a war, but the ‘heat or eat’ dilemma is becoming a reality for an increasing number of UK folk. In the North West it is estimated that over 500,000 households are in fuel poverty. It is a number that is bound to grow as our winter draws in.

There are no easy answers. At one level we keep all those caught up in conflicts around the world in our thoughts and prayers. More practically, we look out for our neighbours where we can. Everyone welcomes the chance to sit in a warm room, have a cup of something hot and a chat. We keep adding those charity food bags to our shopping trolley, and although it may not be much, we hope it helps. When we asked our children if there was anything they wanted for Christmas, two of them asked for logs. They have wood-burning fires, but the cost of logs, like everything else, has soared over the past few months. Accidently, but as it turns out, fortuitously, I bought two years’ worth of logs in the spring, so have plenty of logs to give as gifts. And that’s where this blog ends. For all my grumbles, moans and frustrations, I know I have much to be grateful for. And for that I thank all those who have so generously helped me in my life. Now’s the time to find ways to help others wherever we can.