When needed, change places

Or what to do when feeling blue

Grumpy tomten

The past few weeks here in the UK have been a bit wintery in many senses. The temperatures in December have plummeted relative to our unseasonably warm November. Here on the Island we have had hard frost, snow and sleet, and generally freezing temperatures which is not unusual, just more of a shock after our recent balmy days. 

More chilling though has been the mood of everyone, for various reasons. After a summer of leadership changes and the death of the Queen, instead of desperately needed calm, the autumn has brought price rises for petrol, heating fuels, and groceries. Then the strikes were threatened. 

Well now they have all come: the costs have increased and many services are beginning their strike action. The December calendar has little coloured squares representing the different entities striking each day. There is no ‘white’ day except Christmas and Boxing Day until early January. 

No matter what your views are on the strikes, their existence is a symptom of many people who are so very unhappy. Then there is the impact of the strikes on all the customers who are affected by the actions and delays. All of this is on top of rising costs, and a deep uncertainty of what will come next. This unease seems to be permeating every conversation, even the ever-reliable comments about the weather. 

In an attempt to see if I could change my sense of unease, I took the bus earlier this week to the main town on the island. Maybe by changing my location and seeing some festive holiday scenes, I could change my mood.  

It was morning, very cold and when I got to the bus stop, there were over a dozen people already politely queued up. In my usual ‘not quite sure where the queue begins or ends’, I stood a little away from the group so I could not be accused of jumping the queue. By the time the bus arrived, more people had arrived and I realised I was closer to the beginning of the queue, so I backed up even further to let all the people board ahead of me. It was a double-decker bus, most of the other people waiting were quite a bit older than me and some were a bit unsteady on their feet, so I was pretty certain I could find a seat upstairs. 

Once I navigated the fares (some buses are tap on-tap off with your bankcard, others you pay the full amount then and get a receipt; one never knows ahead of time), and wandered upstairs, I was astonished to discover most of the seats upstairs also were occupied already. 

I luckily found a remaining seat next to the window. Although we have driven this route a few times, this was a new bus route for me, so I was happy to have a good view from up high. I have to confess a guilty pleasure sitting up on the second level where you can peek into people’s gardens and behind all the hedgerows across the fields. 

With a full bus, the windows steamed up quickly, but I kept clearing them with my mittened hands, as did the woman in front of me (another lookie-loo!). I enjoyed the view into a few gardens as we left our village, and then the expansive fields beyond the hedgerows as we moved into the countryside. The rolling fields of green crops (chard? Winter greens?) were looking robust; I was thankful to see that, as I know many crops froze last week. The icy grey clouds wove a full cover high above, keeping the sun and light from sparking much extra brightness to the day.

We veered off on to a smaller road, new for me; what fun! I love to explore a new place, and this was a splendid detour through a small hamlet, connecting two places via roads I didn’t know connected. My geographers brain was in a happy place, creating a new mental map of my end of the island.

In the background to my visual exploration were the murmurings of conversation on the bus. As the journey progressed some words floated out of the low hum: “of course you know they are striking this week…”, “how much did you say…?”, “cost of heating..”, “delays due to the strike…”. But also some cheerier sentiments around “family visiting” and “Christmas market…”

A few hours passed quickly in town: various errands, Christmas shopping list items ticked off, and a lovely lunch in a favourite cafe. Most of the people in the shops were helpful, cheerful and surprisingly busy, which I was grateful to see. Like many people, I like to shop locally, although what constitutes local can be a bit vague depending on the context.

I start in my village, which I can walk to, and try to patronise the shops that also source locally. If I can’t find things here, then I try other places on the Island, and then eventually may have to order from off-island. But of course there are large chain stores on the Island, so does it make more sense to purchase from them, if they can stock the items more efficiently than another business off-island? Like I said, messy and dependent on your personal goals: are your focused on mileage from the source, energy used to produce and/or transport, do they support living wages, and even small versus larger businesses (what about the co-op for example, or a large employee-owned company)? 

On the bus back home, there were only a smattering of people, and I had the top level mostly to myself. Just before we left, a rather chatty set of two older couples hopped on and came upstairs. They sat towards the back and the hilarity began. I suppose they had enjoyed a festive lunch together and were carrying on the fun. I couldn’t hear the details of what they were saying, but they were having the time of their lives and the laughter permeated everywhere. It was really wonderful.

I was reminded that it always helps to change your place, even if just for an hour, but better if you give it at least half a day. Usually for me that means going for a walk, as I need movement to think more clearly and get out of my head. But sometimes it means getting on a bus and going to a place where you can lose yourself with different visual stimulation, and get your brain jump-started by hearing new conversations.  

The joyful couples got off at a quaint tourist village, filled with thatched-roof tea shops, gift outlets and Activities For All! It reminded me once again that one of the reasons we so enjoy living here is that people come here on holiday and are (mostly) in good moods. That good cheer can’t help but rub off, and I ended the day with a little smile in my heart. I am lucky to live here, and am grateful every day for the scenery that lifts my spirits, even if it is a bit chilly.  

Surf rainbow