Lately, pulling myself out of bed to meet a work day morning has been a true test of my superpowers. The alarm pierces the quiet of a room still cloaked in darkness. And I lie hidden, til the (absolute!) last possible moment, under the wrap of duvets and flannel sheets impossibly difficult to relinquish to the certain cold of walking downstairs. Our house is old. Its bones creak and winter drafts flutter through tiny, unmasked crevices. The kids, of course, are hardy—they resist mittens, never mind the nuisance of a sweater. But I live for an extra layer or two. I wrap and wind. Drape and burrow. I keep a blanket at the ready, a drawer bursting with thick, wooly socks and baskets plump with sweaters. We’re in winter’s homestretch, but this last leg of the journey seems always the most difficult to sustain . . .
Enter TOAST whose catalogue always make my heart sing. Not to mention yearn for the luxury of their winter-busting flannels, blankets and woolies. I’d like a few good pyjama-lolling days right about now . . .