Definition of nesh ~ Being either afraid of the cold or feeling the cold a lot. Used across the Midlands and the North.
You don’t need to wear a coat today, you nesh git!
Nesh: I am the definition of nesh. I was born in the middle of summer but swear I came into the world wrapped in a duvet, well, maybe not a duvet as Ma didn’t give up her sheets and blankets until the late 70’s but when she did, to quote the youth of today, ‘It was like totes amazeballs!’
In my day it was just ‘ace’. Gone were the itchy blankets and ten layers of clothing. It was like sleeping in a marshmallow. Once you’ve had duvet, you never want to go back to blankets. If heaven exists, I hope it’s got a 13.5 tog rating!
On top of my natural nesh-ness, I am menopausal and I suppose you could think of winter as the menopausal season because reproduction grinds to a halt, things turns white and bits snap off. The only difference is that the youthfulness of spring won’t be returning, unless you want to pay a few thousand to look like a crap waxwork.
Poo Bags: Autumn’s riot of colour gives way to winter. The berries and evergreens inject life into the landscape. The woodlands, alive with greenery in the summer, are stripped bare to reveal hundreds of black poo-bags. Seemingly, people gather up their pooch’s poo in a bag and then SLAT THEM UP INTO A TREE OR A HEDGE! No, I don’t understand it either.
Snow: Winter can be barren but when Mother Nature does her stuff and makes it snow, it can transform even the ugliest of places into something beautiful. That is, until a dog pees in it or someone sticks a Carling can in it.
I used to love snow. All children love snow, right? When I was a girl, winters were hard and the snow used to drift up the back door. Of course, not every winter was like that. In fact, for the first seven years of my life, there was no snow to speak of. The first year of any significant snowfall was 1977/78. I remember the unconfined joy of being snowed in. No school! Ma hated the snow. She saw only inconvenience. I saw Narnia.
My love affair with the white stuff ended abruptly in 1984 when I fell over on my way to school. I was 14 and very self-conscious. My hair (styled on Sara from Bananarama) was a work of art, taking an hour and a half to achieve. It was backcombed to within an inch of it’s life but looked fabulous, or so I thought. Being a teenager, vanity won over common sense so I attempted to walk to school in a pair of flimsy suede effect boots in about four inches of snow. I skidded (a lot) and finally went down with the finesse of an elephant in full view of the entire world, or so it felt like. My hair was a right off. My boots, once they’d dried out, had nasty white rings around them. Lesson learned.
31 years later, it’s a totally different story. I couldn’t care a less what I look like as long as I’m warm and vertical. I have become my mother and whinge like buggery everytime I see a flake of snow.
Cold: Despite being Nesh of the North, I embrace the cold for two reasons. One, I can cover up my bingo wings guilt-free and two, it helps with the hot flushes which are the bane of any menopausal lady’s life. A quick arctic blast in the face and sanity is restored, well, sort of.
Cold weather means having to put the heating on more. Unfortunately (for OH) I was brought up with Ma’s philosophy of ‘If you’re cold, put another jumper on!’. She demanded to see breath on the inside of the house before she’d reluctantly override the boiler. This would be met with, ‘You’ll all be the bloody death of me!’ to which we’d reply, ‘Not if hypothermia gets us first!’
Winter Nights: Another negative is the longer nights which means more time in front of the TV. The problem in our house is that OH guards the remote like a dog with a bone. He keeps it within grabbing distance and, short of tranquilizing him, there’s not much I can do about it. This means that I have to watch boring woodwork and wildlife documentaries. Oh the joy of sitting down to enjoy a chicken madras just as some poor gazelle gets downed by a lion with the munchies. Occasionally I’ll put my foot down and demand to watch Eastenders and he’s exited the room by the second duff. Men, eh?
Beauty ‘n’ Stuff: Personal grooming takes a back seat in winter, well it does in this house. What’s the point in spending precious time shaving bits which won’t be seen? My Bic is redundant until at least April by which time my legs need strimming, rather than shaving. Bad hair day? I stick a hat on. One of the perks of the menopause is that you stop worrying about such things. Quite liberating, really.
Defrosting the Car: Is always easier when you use the correct implement, i.e, an actual ice-scraper – not an old beer mat. Trust me!
I’m bored of winter now. The novelty has worn off. I’m looking forward to spring when I can go for long walks without freezing to death. Not that we’re safe from snow in spring, or summer for that matter..
A bit of trivia to amaze you. Or not.
In June 1975, SNOW stopped play in Buxton.
It was a real experience,” explained Bird, 77. “I’ve never known anything like it during my 50-year involvement in cricket. I’ve seen plenty of games affected by rain and bad light in my time, but never snow. ~ Dickie Bird
Good old British weather, eh?