Oranges

On broken things

Last weekend I was alone in the house we’ve lived in for almost a year for the very first time. My family were away to the hills but I stayed home to make sure I had enough signal to zoom in for my book launch. The frost was thick outside. The house was colder than I ever remember it being before, so I wrapped up in woolies and kept to my small attic room.

As soon as it gets properly frosty, I find myself thinking about oranges.

I am not really sure where the association began but for my whole adult life I have held these two— the first cold day and oranges—together.

There is so much that I could share here about colour and association and more but all I want to say is that for a very long time I just wanted winter to feel the way I was certain it was supposed to, and it involved snow and oranges.

My book launch ended after nine pm and I hadn’t had dinner and had no idea what, if anything, there was to eat. But I knew there was orange juice, which somehow felt wildly celebratory. This is the second book I’ve launched in America and both times have felt a wee bit odd in that I haven’t ever got to see the book, sign it, meet readers etc and somehow that makes it hard to feel real in any way. I was in the middle of a terrifying, lonely period of PND first time round and if I’m honest I