Cold feet – indecisiveness, backing off, 1980s UK romantic comedy drama series.
In this case it is real cold feet, feet which are cold. Mine.
Something to do with the old terracotta floors in here. Ah the joys of Aly's underfloor heating when we were painting her house the other week. What a treat to have warm feet and not be encumbered by the biggest furriest yetty like slippers known to man just to keep your tootsies above freezing point.
My house is always cold, but cold floors and cold feet are the worst of all. I have now graduated from Ugg books for outside in snow, to a pair almost the same that are for indoors. Sheepskin lined they keep my feet fabulously cosy, but hey, I do look as if I'm about to set off on a wilderness mission and am only lacking the rucksack, cagoule and maybe even a bear trap.
Even the bed conspires against me in the cold wars. When I climb in there I am dressed for the occasion (pjs) and well armed with my bed sox. I have built up an entire wardrobe of these must have items – from fluffy pink to stripy blue, Christmas red to mini mouse spots. As long as they are cosy and warm they are the ones for me! I am determined that my tootsies will be warm throughout the night. In fact they say if you are wearing sox in bed you'll fall asleep quicker, bring it on!
Anyway my problem is that it does get warmer and I wake up with hot feet so kick them off into the deapths of the duvet. Come 5am I am awake again, this time with frozen feet and the shivers. This necessitates a dive under the feathers to find the elusive socks. One of which has always escaped the bed and flown across the room. Get up and track down sock. Feet (or one foot) now colder than ever.
Leaping out of bed and hopping around is always a tactical error on the feline front. The inmates downstairs have heard my movements and have only one word on their furry minds – breakfast. They have no care that it is merely 5am and Mummy half frozen and determined to return to the land of nod. Oh no, now they want their brekky and will come up and serenade me to get it.
Ignore cats chorus for at least 5 minutes until Berti bounces on top of me (one stone pussy cat not good landing with certain amount of determined force on chest) and really starts rasping sweet nothings in my ear.
Stagger from bed and don the hiking boots/indoor slippers boot things and head for the kitchen to deliver food to the masses (well all 2 of them). It is now almost 6am. What is the point of going back to bet. Oh yes there is the principal of the thing, I don't need to be up this early so I won't be up this early. Totter back upstairs and snuggle back down into my cooling pit.
Just as I'm dosing off the alarm cheerfully rings.
I have decided the best course of action is two pairs of sox. One to wear and the other to clutch like a teddy bear, ready to replace the lost sox in the night. With this cunning plan I will outwit the cats and get to stay in bed till 7am. What joy, warm feet and sleep. Easily pleased eh!