Outside.

The view from my window. Well, kind of. Well, that's how I see it...

As anyone who knows me will confirm, I dislike being outside. Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of ‘outside’, as an abstract concept it sounds pleasant enough. Fresh air, sunlight, the beauty of nature in all its magnificence. However, this time of year is a nightmare for me because the weather is getting better and the days are stretching, so I’m under tremendous pressure to drag my pale carcass out of the house. I know loads of people who LOVE ‘outside’. My Dad gets cranky and psychotic if he can’t get out at least once every other day. He favours interminable bracing walks over rough terrain (think Bataan Death March only without the humidity). Walks which seem to have no actual destination, just walking for walking’s sake. He thinks 6 miles is a ‘wee stroll’.

My problem with ‘outside’ is that it’s not cushy enough. It’s dirty. There’s no coffee. If it’s windy my ears get cold, if it’s damp my hair goes frizzy. There’s nowhere to sit and there’s nothing to do. And regardless of the season, it’s never, EVER warm enough. Except when it’s TOO warm which is all the times when it’s not too COLD.

In the summer I HAVE been known to venture out onto the decking armed with coffee, sunglasses and a book (provided the temperature is between 20 and 22 degrees and there is absolutely, positively NOT ONE BREATH of wind).  As long as all I have to do is sit on a chair or lie on a sunlounger, ‘outside’ and I can co-exist quite peacefully for a few hours. Oh, and barbecues. I quite like barbecues – but that’s probably just because there’s food involved.

Aside from the aforementioned occasions, I prefer to enjoy outside from the comfort of inside. I liken it to the way you would view paintings in a gallery; savouring the spectacle, glass in hand, from the luxury of a soft and squishy chair. My only exception to this rule, bizarrely, is EXTREME weather. I love thunderstorms, howling gales, torrential rain, hailstones, tornadoes (OK the last one was a lie). The only thing guaranteed to get me running out of the house (aside from the smoke alarm) is the sound of the heavens opening.

I’ve come to the conclusion that there is cat and vampire somewhere in my genetic code. Roll on winter again.