The comfort, nostalgia, and predictability of British winter hibernation | Jack Marshall's column

We don’t decide to do it and we don’t know we’re doing it, but we do it nonetheless. As the days get short, the sunlight dies, the mercury falls, and our mammalian instincts kick in. We hunker down.

Because it’s so natural an inclination, this hunkering down pervades everything we do. The lack of sunshine makes us feel more tired, so heading off to bed early and sleeping in feels natural and right. Food gets more autumnal and earthy, all root vegetables, rich stews, stodginess, and sugary indulgence.

Feeling full and warm under a blanket when it’s dark at 4.30pm is a real primal pleasure. You can feel it in your soul. The Danes may have coined the term Hygge, but the Brits have mastered it.

The reversion to all things soft and comforting extends to television as well. That November impulse to dip Cadbury’s Chocolate Fingers in a cup of tea starts to itch even more loudly as the year’s season of The Great British Bake Off comes to a close. With the leaves brown and falling, Strictly and I’m a Celeb bound into view, beckoning us for longer stints on the sofa.

And, in lockdown, such a temptation is even harder to resist. By government decree, life is now centred on staying in where the TV and the kettle and the biscuits live. Curl up.

Even exercising during winter is mainly about the bracing contrast of the sharp, hard outside with the cosy, soft indoors.

A brisk run on a morning where you can see your breath makes that evening with a mince pie and a glass of mulled cider all the more wonderful. Leaving the cocoon is a healthy reminder of why your every urge leads you to oversized hoodies and thick socks.

Films also play a big part in British hibernation. As advent calendar season approaches, Harry Potter marathons hove into view on the horizon. TV schedules start filling up with Die Hard, Elf, Love Actually, and Home Alone. At this point, we’re deep into the vegetative process as a nation, with treat drawers and biscuit tins raided more and more frequently.

It’s the best time.

There are no airs and graces to a British hibernation, just pure, unadulterated, animal instinct. We return to our families like homing pigeons, food is comforting, and TV is nostalgic and predictable and all the better for it.

Because there’s respite in predictable. After a year like 2020, the concept of knowing what’s going to happen is novel and very welcome indeed. So, if you can, indulge yourself. And do it with family and a mug of hot chocolate.