On Fog and Veg
To the Editor,
As we wade through the thick soup of fog currently swallowing the UK whole, I find myself caught in a haze of equal parts weather-induced confusion and vegetable-based regret. Yes, while the nation grapples with grounded planes and invisible horizons, I am also wrestling with the harsh reality that I may never, ever, finish my leftover Christmas veg.
Let us first address the fog — a meteorological mischief-maker that has decided to wrap us all in a moist, featureless blanket. Planes are stranded, drivers squint hopelessly at headlights, and the local postman appears to be navigating by sonar. This morning, I stared out of my window only to discover... absolutely nothing. The garden shed, usually a dependable presence, has vanished entirely, leading me to suspect it has either been swallowed by the mist or is staging a protest against the overuse of fairy lights.
And then, there’s the veg. I had such noble intentions, you see. Bowls of perfectly roasted parsnips, carrots glazed in honey, a mountain of buttery sprouts — each lovingly prepared for Christmas dinner with the expectation they’d be devoured by grateful relatives. But no. Everyone had “just a little,” leaving me with enough leftovers to feed a small nation or, at the very least, an unusually picky reindeer.
Naturally, I can’t help but wonder if these two problems are connected. Is the fog somehow a manifestation of my vegetable guilt, a great atmospheric reminder that I’ve failed to appreciate my greens? Or could it be that the uneaten parsnips, sensing their fate in the compost bin, have summoned the fog as a final act of defiance?
In truth, I feel the two issues should be able to solve each other. Could the excess veg not be used to construct a series of emergency beacons to guide planes safely to the runway? Imagine a line of luminous carrots leading the way like a festive landing strip, or a towering parsnip lighthouse cutting through the gloom. Surely, if we can dream of drone deliveries and flying taxis, we can turn a pile of uneaten Brussels sprouts into a fog-busting miracle.
Until then, I remain trapped in this vegetable limbo, surrounded by Tupperware containers that silently mock me as the fog presses against my windows. But perhaps that’s the true spirit of this peculiar December: not clarity or perfection, but the acceptance that some things, like the weather and leftover Christmas veg, are destined to remain unresolved.
Yours, lost in fog and sprouts,
Clementine Puddleworth**
(Frequent fog observer, reluctant veg hoarder)