'Baby it's cold outside': aka 'What part of no don't you understand?'

An admission

I love this song. I sing it in the shower, I sing it when I’m cooking dinner, I sing it (very quietly) when I’m walking down London streets glittering with icy blue Christmas lights that make you feel like you’re in Richard Curtis’s latest film. It’s like champagne: light, joyfully giddy, with a gentle fizz that whispers of fun to come - the sort of thing that would appear in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel before the characters swirl off to some glamorous party, ready to chat each other up while waltzing beneath an outrageously expensive chandelier. However, just like champagne (and F. Scott Fitzgerald novels) there is a darker, toxic element to this ostensibly charming little ditty.

The reading of this teasing back-and-forth that we've all been merrily accepting is that it’s a mutual flirtation. The seductee wants to stay. We all know they're secretly dying to let the seducer slip off that fur stole and pull them into the depths of the plush leather sofa, as the camera sweeps slowly and discreetly over to the roaring fire. It’s not a genuine disinterest that’s got them pulling on the parka and braving the blizzard, but a concern over what the neighbours, Mummy, Daddy, sister Shelly and brother Charles will make of this scandalous overnight stay. Right?

OK, perhaps. But if, for a moment, we could all take off our ‘Getting through the day’ hats and replace them with our ‘Think like a social critic’ ones, it’s possible to see that what we're actually being treated to when this pops onto the radio is another example of the struggle our culture faces with the tricky concept of consent.

For the delicate of mind

If you really can’t bear the thought of having your favourite festive tune carved up like a turkey, and would prefer to pour another glass of bubbly and ignore that inconvenient subtext, stop reading now and have a refill. However, I personally believe that as pop culture is unavoidably impacted by larger societal norms, you can enjoy something on a superficial level while also acknowledging that, perhaps, it also contains more disturbing undercurrents that need to be addressed, lest we all keep making these same mistakes.

A story of wolf and mouse

The original score gives us the first clue that there might be some more sinister power dynamics at play here. The seducing voice, the one that’s obsessed with the climate, is identified as the ‘wolf’, with the other, demurring participant labelled as the ‘mouse’. I’m no biologist, but I know Little Red Riding Hood, and in my mind this sets up a predator/prey relationship right from the outset.

Dirty tactics

Now let’s check out some of those lyrics. The mouse is definitely sure that they absolutely, really, seriously, need to go. Like, now. They are wrapping up the night’s events with all those charming niceties: ‘This evening has been so very nice.’ Translation: 'You're cool and all but the last Tube is about to leave, and I have an episode of Orange is the New Black and the world's cosiest reindeer onesie waiting for me.' Nevertheless, our protagonist perseveres:

Tactic One: Sweet talking

Examples: ‘Beautiful, what’s your hurry?’ ‘Your eyes are like starlight now’. ‘Your hair looks swell’.

Intention

This wolf is no Andrew Marvell, but while they might not have the most convincing ammunition, they’re definitely willing to wield flattery as a weapon in this power struggle. Phase one is to coax the mouse into believing that they are the most desirable human being to wander the Earth since Helen of Troy, leaving hoards of maddened admirers drooling helplessly in their wake, and that they are therefore also the one with the control, the one who can say yes or no. The hope is that they will be so blinded by these charming comments that they will return the favour by giving in and throwing another log on the fire. That's all well and good if they were already toying with the idea of sticking around, but by identifying sex appeal as the valid measure of worth, the wolf ensures that the mouse feels the only stake they have in the game is as an object of sexual desire.  This objectification plays nicely into…

Tactic Two: The guilt trip

Evidence: ‘What’s the sense in hurting my pride?’ ‘How can you do this thing to me?’

Intention

That sheep costume is starting to slip, and we get a hint of this wolf’s true colours. The mouse has been giving off very obvious signals that they are not interested in seeing out the embers of that fire. In fact, just to remove any trace of doubt, at one point they say, 'The answer is no.' Not, 'Give it a few more drinks and we'll see,' not 'Alright then, but can we please finish the movie first.' NO.

As all socially competent people know, this is the cue to say, 'I must say that I am personally disappointed to have my expectations shattered, but I respect your decision. Let me find your coat, please do take a cookie for the road.' Unfortunately, we're dealing with a wolf, so despite the mouse's assertions, protests and outright refusals, they continue to insist that the mouse's unwitting allure has driven them into a state of wild desire. Now comes phase two: the guilt.

Suddenly, the power that was apparently handed over is no longer something that can be used to control the situation, but the burden of choice. From here, the wolf can trowel on the guilt like an overly ambitious baker with a bowl of buttercream. The mouse had a nice time, they like this wolf. Hearing that they’re hurting the wolf’s feelings makes them feel guilty. This wasn’t their intention, they just wanted to have an eggnog and a few mince pies with someone they find rather dishy. Suddenly, they’re being told that if they continue to ‘hold out’, as the song puts it, they’re being a cold-hearted tease. Suddenly, the assertion that you alone should be allowed to control your own body is not a human right but a selfish denial of another human’s needs.

Gender politics

I’ve been trying to avoid referencing gender, because I believe that this sort of pressure can be applied by anyone in any relationship. However, when the song is performed by a man and woman, the wolf is generally a man, and the mouse a woman, in accordance with the original score. (Although those without an aversion to ukeleles in Christmas songs can check out this version by She & Him for an interesting role reversal.) In this set up, the song also invokes that troubling virgin/whore issue women are left to negotiate. Her denial is a game, played out to show that she’s not so sexualised that she doesn't fret over what society will say, as represented by her vicious aunt and those pesky neighbours peering through their net curtains. If a woman is 'too willing' to test out the suspension on that sofa, she's the one making the demands, and is therefore the one with the power. However, she can't be so chaste that she’ll reject the seducer's advances outright. When your worth is measured solely by how willing you are to 'give it up', refusing to do so makes you a pointless participant.

Being outright creepy

Being told that there are ‘No cabs to be had out there’ is a bit like that scene in a horror film when the hatchet-wielding villain is two paces away and - oh no! - the car won't start. Yes, if you're looking for a reason to stay, totally forgetting about Hail-o is a magical excuse for stopping over for a bit of Christmas canoodling, but remember that the mouse has stated their total aversion to this plan. Reminding them that there's no handy method of escape becomes quite threatening, as they are left alone to negotiate this increasingly pressured situation.

We need to talk about booze
Now come on Tasha, I hear you say, there's every chance that those drinks they’re pouring are steaming mugs of hot chocolate or a nice cup of tea. However, since we’re all grown-ups, let’s assume it’s something a little stronger. That said, apparently our mouse isn’t clear either, asking ‘What’s in this drink?’ This is one of the trickiest lines to gloss prettily over. In our most optimistic moments, we can say that it's intended as a light-hearted way to show that the booze is helping our mouse to forget about All Of The Judgement so they can acknowledge their own desires and do The Thing they definitely, absolutely, totally want to do (no matter what they're saying to the contrary.)

However, whatever the intention, and whatever chemical assortment we're supposed to believe is in that drink, it now sounds uncomfortably like something is being used to cloud their judgement and leave them more susceptible to the wolf's plans. Maybe, when we’re doing our Serious Reading of this song, it would be wise to acknowledge that this should be one of those squirm-inducing lines that, much like guillotines, blue mascara and miasma theory, was ‘of its time’, rather than a nice little tongue-in-cheek reference to the inhibition-relieving effects of alcohol.

So what now?

Well done for making it all the way through this highly unfestive destruction of a classic song. The purpose was not to reduce a once frothy and charming winter tune to a pile of smoking glitter, but to demonstrate that our struggle to take the concept of consent seriously, and the sexual double standard, are so rampant that they pop up in songs that are supposed to be merry and bright harmless fun. While I hope you’re taking something from this, or just nodding vehemently in agreement, you may now replace your social critic hat with a paper crown, and get back to truly Christmassy pursuits a little more willing to look into the subtext.

What it’s like to be a triplet

Part of me dreads the moment when the question of siblings comes up. I understand that people who haven’t bumped into many of Our Kind before are curious about what it’s like, but I still find it uncomfortable seeing your eyes widen slightly in surprise, as two more of me appear before you, like a drunken mirage. In my 24 years of experience, your first response will likely go one of four ways:

1. Are you identical?
2. I’ve never met a triplet before.
3. My friend’s cousin’s ex-boyfriend’s mother is a triplet.
4. Did your parents have fertility treatment?

Here are my responses.

1. I am fascinated by this question. It’s particularly fun if we’ve just been discussing my brother, and you’ve only found out I’m a triplet when I reveal we’re the same age. Firstly, while Matt is a fine-looking guy, I’d rather not look like him. Especially the beard. Secondly, having triplets at all is pretty freaky, having three who are genetically identical is about as likely as plunging your hand into a haystack and pulling out the needle you lost in there three months ago. OK, I haven’t checked the actual odds, but the point is, it’s not likely. I think the reason that perfectly logical people tend to jump to this one is that it helps you get your head around the visuals of three siblings all born at once.
2. Lucky me, taking your triplet virginity. Unfortunately you’re the 800^th person who’s told me that. Have a balloon and a sticker.
3. I probably know them through our secret triplet club* even though they live in Alaska. And you can definitely ascribe all aspects of their personality and life to me.
4. Er, can we please not discuss my parents’ sexual activities? On hearing that your birthday is in September, I don’t casually ask if that means your parents got a bit randy after one too many Christmas sherries, or whether you were conceived to the sound of Michael Buble’s Christmas hits, or Noddy Holder’s shrieking vocals. Luckily, it’s generally my mum who gets this one. The last person who asked me this didn’t exactly have an astute understanding of personal boundaries.

In fairness, I can understand the thought process behind these responses. Being a triplet is rare enough that it warrants comment, but it’s not a personal achievement that you can congratulate me on, or get much conversational material from. It’s even harder when I have to explain that I’m a triplet as context to an anecdote, as it inevitably sounds like I’m somehow bragging about my ‘special’ status.

Most of the time, the conversation moves on to more interesting matters. Sometimes, however, people want to know ‘What’s it like being a triplet?’ Here’s my carefully thought-through, incredibly insightful first-hand account.

I have no idea. To me – to us – you’re the freak. What do you mean you’ve never shared your birthday with two other people? How is it that you’ve never had your sibling in the same school year as you?

OK, since I reeled you in this far based on that title, I'll give it a go. On the one hand, we were all on a level playing field from the start. There’s no age-related basis for any of us to take all the responsibility (although it often gets shared out along gender lines instead.) There’s no ‘Why is he allowed to watch The Exorcist when I’m stuck with Thomas the Tank Engine?’ or ‘Why can she can drink vodka shots in the pub all night when I have a 9pm curfew?’ when you’re all the same age. The rules got made up and applied to all of us at the same time, so there was no sense of injustice over ‘But Stacey got a car when she was seventeen, where’s mine?’

There are drawbacks, too. Getting everything in one hit, tripled, can be tough. Events like exam results become highly pressured, as our parents are faced with comforting and celebrating at the same time. Worse than that, however, is the tendency for others to view us as a big lump, vaguely divided into three. As any siblings can attest to, this was probably not helped by the matching clothes (thanks for that, Mum).

This is less of a problem now we’re all spread out and making our own friends, but when we were younger, we were very much viewed as ‘The Triplets’. Even when alone, it often felt as though people could only properly place me when they remembered that ah, yes, you’re one of the three. Even science turned against us: I remember one dispiriting program where Professor Robert Winston cheerfully announced that the reason humans don’t give birth to more than one child at once is so we learn to love our offspring as individuals, and are therefore more likely to take care of them in the face of sabre-tooth tiger attacks. Thanks, Bob.

This tendency to picture triplets as clones, rather than separate people, is even funnier because the three of us are as different as, you know, ‘normal’ siblings. Matt speaks rarely but thoughtfully, and has an outrageously dark sense of humour and a love of horror films that would leave me sleeping bolt upright with a shotgun for months. Claire has a beautifully artistic mind and the skills to match, is very messy (own it, sis), and incredibly empathetic. I am bossy, efficient with everything but timekeeping, and with a tendency to babble into any conversational silence. Yes, there are similarities between us, like our eyes and a fondness for feminist outbursts, but no more than you would expect from fraternal siblings of any age gap.

Similarly, just as people assume the youngest child is spoilt and the oldest is in charge, being a triplet has not endowed me with personality traits you might expect someone who's always been flanked by two others to have. It definitely has not made me good at sharing. I tend to be independent, and I don’t like being told what to do, and I never have.

I’m sorry to squash anyone’s fantasies about how amazing it would be to have a sibling who can double as another you, as seems to happen in all those delightful books you grew up reading (Double Act was a personal favourite). However, the happy truth is that any siblings, or even friends, who spend enough time together can develop that almost uncanny psychic bond. You don’t need to share a womb, a birthday cake or a bloodline to connect with someone like that. 

Ultimately, I know that as with having a sibling of any age, the experience of being a triplet has shaped my identity and my life. However, I’d also like to think there are more important and interesting things to me than the fact I share my birthday with two other awesome Lavenders.

*Actually, there is a secret triplet club. It’s called Super Twins, which is a term for multiple births of more than twins, who apparently aren’t impressive enough any more. It wasn’t actually the place where we all made triplet-only conspiracies as much as an opportunity for our parents to find solidarity and alcohol while we all ran riot in whoever’s house was due to be destroyed that month. 

15 Things people who are always cold want you to know

Just remember, cold hands = warm heart and excellent drink-holding capabilities.

1.    Gloves are required all year round. There’s a six week period between July to August when you don’t have a trusty pair on hand.

2.    It takes a pep talk to get yourself out of the shower. And probably silent screaming, weeping and swearing.

3.    Snowy movies leave you cold. The Day After Tomorrow, Frozen and this LOTR clip produce the same nervous tension as a blood-soaked horror fest.

4.    You worry for movie characters who go charging off on adventures without adequate clothing. Don’t forget your sweater, Indy. Say what you will about the guy, but Bane knew what he was doing when it came to weather-appropriate wear.

5.    Gilets are pointless and must be stopped. Why would you create something so cosy and then cut off the arms? It's like buying rollerskates and throwing away the wheels.

6.    You feel slightly suspicious of people who wear t-shirts through November. This is a safe space: no one will judge you for accepting that you're a human, not a polar bear, and putting on a jacket.

7.    Shaking hands is a tense moment. An icy, deathlike grip does not make the greatest first impression.

8.    …Especially if you also experience Raynaud’s phenomenon. Apparently about 12% of men and 20% of women have this delightful condition. A drop in the temperature causes the capillaries in your fingers and toes to go into spasm, shutting off the blood supply until they go numb and pinchy, and take on a charming corpse-like colour. Wiggling helps, but also makes you look like you’re hatching evil plans, or that you're trying out for the Toros.

9.   Reusable hand warmers, hot water bottles and microwaveable slippers are top of your wishlist. Anything to break up all the cold.

10.  You have a deep and abiding hatred of air con. Air con was brought to Britain by sadists who don’t want us to enjoy the few days of the year when we can feel the ends of our toes. It’s also started more office wars than stolen packed lunches and soggy teabags in the sink.

11.  Strangers think you're overreacting. Yes, I really do need this scarf and woolly hat in September. No, I don't need your pity. Unless I can turn it into heat and use it to thaw out my ears.

12.  Hot people are the best. Forget sense of humour, witty conversation and a decent taste in films: a high body temperature is the most attractive trait. Bonus points if they also have warm clothes they’re willing to share.

13.  Sweat feels like a victory. I’ve got to a point where I’m so warm my body has to adjust itself to cope? WIN.

14.  Outside activities do not hold the same appeal. BBQ? Beach trip? Picnic? Yes, I think I have enough woolly jumpers to get through that. Better pack the tinfoil just in case.

15.  However, all this means that the moment when sun finally reaches your poor, freezing body is a total revelation. Like eating a gooey chocolate brownie, but under your skin.

Cake, fruit and flu: Six bits of office etiquette we all need to know

It's not just KPIs, EODs and NAVs that can leave you in a mind-twisting muddle at work. The unwritten social rules of the desk jungle require some untangling if you want to be a hit and not, well, Jerry. Here are six suggestions to stay in everyone's good books. 

1. Don’t come in when you’re sick

You might think you’re impressing your colleagues by dragging yourself to your desk when every microbe in your being is telling you to stay in bed with a box of tissues and a meth lab’s worth of Sudafed. In reality, not only are you are grossing everyone out, but your unnecessary efforts put pressure on us to do the same when we inevitably catch your germs and succumb to the same grizzly illness. Stay in bed, eat chicken soup, and watch Game of Thrones. Your body and everyone in your immediate vicinity will thank you in the long run.

2. Do make/buy cake…

Forget taking on extra projects and doing the tea run: the best way to ingratiate yourself with everyone at work is by casually rocking up with a chocolate covered something to fill that 3pm (or 9am) craving. It’s not just the sugar rush that people appreciate – bringing in a treat shows you’re a sympathetic human being who’s spotted the need for a morale boost. You’re basically a superhero with an apron instead of a cape.

3. … but don’t be offended if people don’t want any

Most of your colleagues will likely be more than happy to dig in the moment the clock strikes 12, but don’t be offended if someone politely declines. As long as they aren’t tutting and moaning loudly about the disgusting calorie content of Krispy Kremes, or muttering darkly about the gluten in that apple pie, they’re perfectly within their rights to pass on the pudding. Understand that they’re probably still grateful and give them the BOTD: they might have a special dinner planned, be desperately trying to follow a diet, or just not have the taste buds required to appreciate courgette cake.  

4. Don't steal pens

It's just another rainy Tuesday morning at the office, when a solid gold, change-the-world, million-making idea bursts into your head like a floodlight on a stage, just waiting to be captured. You grab your notebook and reach for your trusty biro - only to find that some unscrupulous colleague has nicked it to write their shopping list. Pens are second only to hair clips and odd socks in their ability to disappear at will. Hide your stack somewhere discrete, and resist the temptation to grab someone else's when inspiration strikes again. If you're not part of the solution, you're just another pen thief.

5. Know your fruit allowance

Since you’re working in an office, you’ve probably got at least 16 years of life behind you, during which time you’ve hopefully encountered fruit in some form. If your workplace is one of those caring kinds that get in a regular order of fruit, avoid annoying everyone by indulging in your share and no more. Use some common sense: no one is going to expect you to split a banana with them or go halfsies on an apple, but that whole bunch of grapes or the entire pot of dried dates is not a serving for one person. Don’t be a fruit hog - let everyone get their vitamin C. No one will feel like they've been conned, and you'll all be much better protected from the evil person bringing their lurgies to the weekly meeting.

6. Don’t contact people on their day off

Is the business about to go under without that phone call? Is it a question only they know the answer to? Does it need answering right this moment to avoid a nuclear war? No? Put the phone down and delete that email draft. Even if the news you're dying to share is not strictly business, and more along the lines of ‘I never even knew photocopiers could take the weight of two adults like that', they probably don’t want to hear it while they’re soaking up the sun and a few margaritas on a Spanish beach. Save it until the ‘Out of Office’ is off and they're back in work mode.

Mother knows best - the top mums in fiction (and one of the worst)

Today is a very special day, and not just because the clocks went forward and stole an hour of your life. No, today is the day when mothers around the world are rewarded for their hard work - there are no holidays, sick leave or free coffee in this job. To celebrate, here are four favourite fictional mums, and one marvellous maternal mess.

Lorelai Gilmore

Gilmore Girls

Just sixteen when she gave birth to Rory and ran away from home, Lorelai might be a bit of a hot mess when it comes to basic life skills like chores, nutrition and not sleeping with other people’s spouses, but she gets an A star for effort. Not only does she nail Rory’s pop culture education, but she passes her caffeine-fuelled work ethic, spirited wit and slightly weird name on to her insufferably perfect offspring. Whether it’s a work, wardrobe or romantic crisis, Lore is just a phone call (or, quaintly, a page) away, ready to jump in her jeep at a moment’s notice and deliver wicked and worldly advice at 300 wpm.

Skyler White

Breaking Bad

She might start out as the nagging stereotype stamping all over Walt’s dreams of wealth, power and infamy, but by the end we’re all rather in awe of Skyler. This straight-talking, quick-thinking car wash queen manages to bring up a baby and an increasingly moody teen more or less alone while their wayward father becomes a meth kingpin, dealing with door-slammings and sulking levelled at her by said 17-year-old with resigned dignity. Sure, she smokes more than a Victorian factory and takes her cereal with gin and resentment, but who can blame her? She’s also got some seriously shrewd business skills going on: laser tag Saul? Really? Better call Skyler.

Vianne

Chocolat

Colourful, cool and aloof, Vianne stands out from all the other sensible-shoe wearing mothers in the sleepy French village that she whisks daughter Anouk to (because you can always judge a woman’s sense of adventure by her footwear.) It’s not just her feisty personality and sense of whimsy that make her a fun mum: she can be a bit flaky and has terrible taste in men - but who wouldn’t want a chocolate-making genius for a mother? While all those other poor kids are chewing disdainfully on their rice cakes and cornflakes, Anouk is merrily gorging on cream-laden hot chocolate, chocolate croissants, gateux and other goodies. As if this weren’t enough, Vianne also has mysterious magical powers, which she’s kindly passed on to her daughter: much more valuable than a stable childhood and a bike.

Lily Potter

Harry Potter

More than just a pair of green eyes (seriously JK, how often do we have to hear about those?) Lily is always willing to stick up for the little, hook nosed, greasy-haired guy. (Sure, she ditches him for the handsome, arrogant troublemaker in the end, but the heart wants what the heart wants.) It’s Lily’s love for Harry that saves him from Voldemort’s curse, earning him a pretty awesome scar and lots of psychological trauma in the process.

Not all fictional mums are about chocolate shops, unconditional love and swapping fashion tips. One of the most malevolent mothers in the movies has to be...

Mother Gothel

Tangled

Not all witches are so good at this motherhood thing. With her flowing red robes, flair for the dramatic and amazing head of curls (a sure sign of evil, apparently) Tangled’s scheming Mother Gothel is fabulously foul. There’s no retinol or Botox in Disney, so our villain has to resort to kidnapping to maintain her glamorous and youthful looks. She’s willing to bully, trick and trap her ‘daughter’ into staying in her tower, delivering eternal youth through the magic of hair care. If you think your mum is hostile to your love interest, wait until you see what Gothel has in store for Rapunzel’s new fella… Sassy, sexy and wonderfully wicked, you don’t want to mess with this mother.

Do you agree? Which other mothers should have made the cut? Don't be stingy - post your views in the comments.

Happy Mother's Day!