Snug, cool, snug-cool-warm...and Moccis.

Lately the word that rules my life is ‘snug’.  Could have something to do with the icy breeze gusting through the window of my office or the manic hailstorm that flung itself around the house this morning.  But maybe it’s something deeper than that.  I realised, when I was in Morocco, that much as I love hot weather, I also crave the cold.  But cold from a perspective of warmth, if you get my (snow)drift. 

‘Have you ever been to that place in Iceland?’ said Emma as she was cutting my hair (no, not too short, I still need the snuggery of it around my neck).

‘The Blue Lagoon?’ I said.  ‘The geothermal lake?  No. But I’d love to.’ 

And I told her about how one of my most delicious experiences this year was swimming in a toasty warm outdoor pool in Austria surrounded by snow-capped mountains. And about how much I loved a trip to America in winter when the snow lay deep on the ground but the sun shone bright – turning the whole world into a sparklefest.  Unlike here in the UK where, generally, snow means grey skies and sludge.  And inside non-snuggly cold.  Why is it we are so so SO crap at insulating our homes here in Britain? 

And, again and again, I find myself drawn to pictures of snug cabins, plaid blankets, faux furs, cable knits and roaring fires. Simple places.  Outside it may be freezing but inside it’s…snug.  No other word for it really.  Snuggeries. 

The Bonkers House, sadly, is not snug.  In fact, it’s the polar (ho ho) opposite.  Poor James sits huddled in a blanket with fingerless mittens playing his Xbox. 

‘If you got up and did something, you’d be warm,’ I say and he gives me ‘The Look’. 

‘What? Like doing Jumping Jacks the way you did at Reading train station?’ he says with scorn.  He has never forgiven me for this but, hey, needs must and it was cold. 

Anyhow. I bought him some slipper socks. I thought he’d stick them in the bottom drawer but, lo and behold, he loves them.  And then I had an email about Moccis – somewhat funky moccasin-type slipper sock hybrid thingies.  So I’ve been road (house?) testing them and very fine they are too.  Machine washable, skid-proof soles, and some pretty cool designs.  The company was founded by Anna Wetterlin who couldn’t figure out why you couldn’t get good quality Swedish-style moccasins in the UK.  So she started up a company to get her designs hand-made in a traditional factory in Sweden - and then sells them over here.

What is seriously unfair is that some of the coolest of the 35 designs are only available in small sizes (why do children have all the fun??  Taking of which, I still live in hope of flashing trainers in adult sizes).  

But still…Cool (or rather ‘snug’) idea.  Check them out. Here's another link in case you missed the first one. http://www.moccis.co.uk/

The Great Big Mattress Quest and the Island of Doom

‘You have to get there early,’ insisted Kim.  ‘If you want to get the best mattresses.’

Max, Denise and I frowned in unison.

‘The MS Christina isn't a big boat,’ Kim clarified. ‘And they lay mattresses out on deck.  Let’s just say that you need to get there before other…um…more forceful nationalities.’

Ah.  Okay.

And so…yeah.  We still ended up being the last on board.  And yup, the proprietorial towels were down and territorial glares were given as we edged along the deck and found the last free spot, at the very very front tip of the boat.  The word that springs to mind is snug.  Let’s just say it was a good job we were friends and didn’t have serious personal space issues.

But, y’know…it was just perfect.  As we set off, I wriggled up even further until I was a de facto figurehead, all wind-tousled and sea-swept, hair flying every sea-witch way as we powered down the Meganisi channel.

I’ve never done this chuntering around islands on boats thingy before. The nearest I ever came was off the East Coast of the States when my brother had a half-share in a boat. But that was actually pretty stressful as it involved a lot of narrowly avoiding rocks while downing excessive amounts of hard liquor (come to think of it that was probably why we kept nearly crashing into rocks – nobody could see straight). 

But this was…lovely, just lovely.  Sea air and pans au chocolat mellowed everyone down pretty quickly and the frontiers started easing.    

We dropped anchor just off the island of Formeluka.  ‘Anyone fancy a swim?’  I adjusted my five layers of clothing and shook my head. A gaggle of already inebriated Swedes in miniscule bikinis jumped in followed by a cohort of earnest Germans and a brace of determined Dutch.   

Next up was the ‘forgotten’ island of Kastos where the population has shrunk to virtually nothing. We moored at the harbour and walked up through what was effectively a ghost town, the buildings mainly boarded up, the erstwhile school playground returning to scrub.  A quick drink and then we were off again to anchor off a tiny deserted beach.   The sun kissed my shoulders and so I plunged into the water, a patchwork of turquoise and emerald; slipped on a snorkel and floated, face down, letting the waves pull me wherever they so wished.  Beautiful.

Onwards to Kalamos, a sunken mountain, ancient pine forests clasping its skin. The pristine beach of Asprogiali where toes touched down onto soft white sand.

Finally Skorpios, the island of the doomed, the damned, the dead.  The Onassis island.  We shivered slightly and, while others plunged merrily into the waters by the beach supposedly the favourite of Maria Callas, we stayed on board.  Superstitious maybe.  The crew threw bread and fish raced in, gobbling it up in a feeding frenzy as we heard the story of how Jackie Onassis contested her husband’s will because three million wasn’t enough.   And one of the Dutch women told us her sister was dying of cancer; that this was probably their last trip together.   And I couldn’t help the obvious correlation - that all the money in the world can’t buy you happiness and love and life.  

And then again, I thought, as we left our little spot at the end of the perfect day.  

You don't always get to choose the mattress you want.  But somehow it will always turn out okay. In the end. Hopefully. :-)