The Waffle Maker, the Snow Storm and The DIY Queen

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Or "All I Want for Christmas is Warmth"

It's 10 o'clock in the evening and I hurry back home, walking just fast enough to avoid skidding on the slushy snow under my feet. It's an early finish today - the market is empty, the wet white clumps falling from the sky having scared off even the biggest mulled wine and sausage enthusiasts. The whole city is getting ready for sleep under a thick snowy blanket. It's highly amusing to see rows upon rows of bikes in a city as cyclist-oriented as Oxford covered with a think white layer. Amusing purely because I don't have a bike here, so I can giggle as I imagine the suprise or indignation on their owners faces in the morning, safe in the knowledge that the God of bikes can't get me. Yet...

It may be a little cruel to laugh at other people's inconvenience, but I feel like I deserve a bit of comic relief after yet another evening shift in my new role as Waffle-Woman. Having experienced the Christmas market from the inside I can now safely say I know what a huge amount of effort goes into making the magic happen. I can also safely say that I now know how to disassemble a wooden hut and then build it up again almost from scratch, with minimal outside assistance. Add to that the essential and hugely transferable skill of washing sticky waffle-dough covered pots and dishes practically without running water, let alone a tap mixer, and I believe I have now acquired all the essential skills to relocate to an uninhabited island, as long as I have enough waffle mixture and chocolate for melting. Oh, and enough foil and paper towels - the essential companions in any undertaking. Jokes aside though, I feel this has been an important learning experience. A lesson in being self-sufficient and a battle won against fear of the unknown and the unexpected, a very real fear that has now melted the way snowflaked melt on a child's tongue.

A learning experience, but not one that I would repeat again. I have gained an inisight into the reality behind the fairy tale. I have felt the bitter cold of a German winter behind the warm smiles of the market staff. And next time I come to a Christmas market, let it be as just another member of the idle crowd, occassionally buying unnecessary kitsch and temporarily forgetting all diets and health issues, albeit with a deep awareness of what goes on behind the scenes. And above all, let there be warmth for Christmas. I realise now more than anything how blessed we all are to simply have a home with a radiator - such a banality, but one that keeps us all alive this winter, and hopefully for many winters to come.

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