Jonny McCambridge: Mansplaining the demister controls...my guide to defrosting a windscreen

Now, as the rest of the world is slowly beginning to stir from hibernation, I am getting my break. The previous night I made a vow that I will sleep-in.

Regular readers will know that my occasional insomnia means that I usually don't get lie-ins.

This time I have pledged that however many times I wake, however restless I become, I will not shift from bed.

Predictably, I am awake often. I check the time shortly after 1am. I hear my son going to the bathroom at a quarter past three. Stubbornly, I refuse to shift and eventually doze back off.

Later, I am aware of my wife moving around in the dark and I suppose it is time for her to get up for work.

The radiator has not yet spluttered into life and the bracing air is about my face.

It is clearly a bitterly cold morning. It is hard to tell in the dark, but I may be wearing a broad smile as I pull the covers over my head and my wife slowly descends the stairs.

I am half-asleep when I hear the sound of her car lowly growling outside and feel a stab of guilt. I know that it will be icy and that driving conditions will be treacherous.

I understand that my wife is entirely capable of navigating meteorological and motoring challenges by herself.

Furthermore, I am hardly an alpha male or even a petrol-head gifted in the manoeuvring of vehicles during blizzards.

Still, it just doesn't seem particularly gallant for me to be lying cosily in bed while she is struggling to defrost her vehicle. I am awake now and sigh deeply as I pull on the dressing gown and descend the stairs.

We have been here before. I remember the time when we were living in east Belfast and there was heavy snowfall.

I got out of bed to dig my wife's car out of the snow and then drove her down our street, which was a treacherous mix of ice and sleet, and towards the more benign conditions on the Newtownards Road.

From there I waved her off to work before walking back home through the brown slush while still dressed in my pyjamas and bedroom slippers.

Today, I open the door and am momentarily startled by the cold blast of air. It is freezing and, even though it is still dark, I can see a covering of snow on the driveway.

The silver frost has attached itself to my wife's car like a glistening, shining spider's web. I hear the rumble of the engine and the hum of the demister which is fighting a losing battle against the thick layer of ice.

I struggle to keep my feet as I approach the car and tap the window on the driver's side with my knuckle. I choose my words carefully.

"Have you got the demister working okay?”

“Yes, I think so,” she replies uncertainly.

I glance at the panel and see that the mechanism is blowing out cold air directly into my wife's face, rather than in the direction of the windscreen. I walk to the other side of the motor and sit in the passenger seat.

My wife's car is younger than my own but could hardly be described as modern.

I take time to show her how to use the demister controls, how when the little windscreen logo appears, that means the air is blowing at the frozen window.

I am very conscious as I do this of the word 'mansplaining'. I am aware also that my assistance was not requested. I reason it out in my mind.

Over Christmas my wife downloaded the app on our telly that allowed me to watch the darts live after I got hopelessly lost while trying to do it. When you have been married a long time you instinctively know the areas where the other is weak and want to help.

I don’t think that's a bad thing. Even with the demister now blowing in the proper direction, I know that more assistance will be required to get my wife on the road to enable her to arrive at the office on time.

I walk around the side of the house, my slippers leaving prints in the fresh snow, and return with a yard-brush and a kettle.

The brush I use to clean snow off the lights and the roof of the wee car. I've lost count of the number of times I've seen motorists driving on the road with several inches of snow on top of their vehicle which then tumbles over the windscreen as the car warms up and the brakes are applied.

The kettle is perhaps a more controversial tool to use for de-icing. I once had a neighbour in Belfast who, when he saw me with the kettle every winter, would gravely warn me that boiling water would shatter my windscreen.

I always took the time to explain to him that I shared his concerns about the potential impact of such a rapid change of temperature, which is why I use lukewarm water which does the task of melting the snow very well.

He would huff and puff his displeasure at my response and then repeat his ominous warning, as if we had never spoken of the subject before, the next time we had snow.

Soon, my wife's car is ready for the road. I scrape some snow off the driveway as she gingerly reverses.

I watch for a few minutes as she drives carefully towards the A1 and the relative safety of a gritted road.

It is not yet 8am but I know that there will be no more sleep this morning.

I head for the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.