Jonny McCambridge: The coldest day in years – just the right moment for a power cut
It is 6:19pm when the lights go out. My first thought is that this is the worst possible moment for a power cut.
It is bitterly cold, the rawest day I can remember in years. The little thermometer in my car has not shifted past -4 since I checked it this morning.
Moreover, the freezing fog is everywhere, like a thick sauce, adding to the sense of desolation. These are days to be endured, rather than enjoyed.
And now we have no electricity. My son is in the next room and emits a yelp of distress. After a few seconds, he finds me in the dark and clings to my waist.
When I was a child growing up in rural north Antrim, power cuts were not unknown, and we expected a few every winter. My boy comes from a different era and views this as something close to an apocalyptic event.
But there is also an uncommon piece of good fortune. At the exact moment the lights flickered and failed, I was on my knees in the front room lighting the open fire. The spiralling price of coal and timber means I don’t use the old fireplace often and we have not had a fire in a few weeks.
However, the particular savagery of today’s temperatures encouraged me to bring fuel inside from the shed. The dry sticks were just beginning to crackle with flame when we were plunged into darkness.
Now, with the central heating gone, the sacks of coal and logs are our only defence against the creeping frost.
Using light from my mobile, I lead my son into the kitchen and find the top drawer where the torches and candles are stored. I let him hold a torch while I light the wicks and his sense of panic is replaced by one of adventure. Soon the front room, where the fire is now roaring, is dimly lit and warm.
Food is the next consideration. I was preparing a healthy dinner and had a large pot of pasta on the stove when the electricity went off. I phone my wife, who I know will be driving home from work, and bring her up to date. It is agreed that she will buy takeaway food from the shopping centre if the power is not restored by the time she gets there.
My son and I sit in the half-light thinking the same thing. He says it first.
"Daddy, I hope the electricity doesn’t come back on before mummy buys the chips.”
During the wait we go to the front door and peer outside. It is unsettlingly dark. There are houses just a few yards across the road, but in the absence of street and house lighting they have disappeared. It is like staring over the edge of the world and a reminder of how seldom we experience total darkness.
The brain is not used to this state when the eyes are open and struggles to find shapes or definition among the blanket of black.
My wife returns home carrying steaming brown paper bags filled with food. The pungent aroma of vinegar soon fills the house.
I close the door of the front room to trap the heat as the three of us sit in there happily dipping chips in ketchup as we relate our accounts of school and work from the day.
My wife checks a website on her phone and establishes that the power cut is expected to last for several more hours.
The fire is topped up until the flames are tickling the bottom of the chimney. The room is warmer than it ever is when heated by the radiators and soon I’m removing my woolly pullover.
An hour is passed in playing cards. My son explains the rules of the game to me and we laugh and ridicule each other as our competitive streaks are exposed.
As the games go on and I inexpertly shuffle the deck over and over, I struggle to remember the last time I played cards.
Later, it is story-time. It’s a little too dark to read type on pages so my wife finds some audiobooks. The three of us fall silent as the narrator relates the tales against the occasional crack and fizzle of the fire.
There is plenty of time for a Roald Dahl adventure and then a Sherlock Holmes mystery to be unfurled and enjoyed.
In the later part of the night the fire has calmed down so that there is just a soft glow from what is left of the coal. The door, closed earlier to keep in the warmth, is open now to allow some cooler air to get in.
Unlike the fire, the energy of our shared conversation is not diminishing and there is a common reluctance to accept that it is bedtime.
As I am preparing to transfer the candles upstairs, the lights suddenly come back on, the TV flashes into life and I hear the whir and grind of the boiler as the central heating resumes operation.
I suppose the timing is fortuitous. It allows me to boil the kettle to fill a hot water bottle for my son’s bed. The ritual of putting toothpaste onto toothbrushes is certainly easier when you can see what you are doing. However, our response to the restoration of power is muted.
As I busy myself with the end of night duties, it occurs to me that the three of us in this house have our own distinct circles of existence, which interject and overlap sparingly.
Due to the power cut, to being stationed together for hours in the same small room, to having our normal electronic diversions removed, our circles have been spinning perfectly in unison. It may be the best family time we have enjoyed in a while.
The night finishes with my wife tucking our son into bed and me placing the hot water bottle where he can warm his toes.
As I bid him goodnight, he whispers: "Daddy, can we have another power cut sometime soon?”