“I think I was born in the wrong country” is my usual response when discussing who likes Summer or Winter best – you know those small talk chats, often in a queue, which never tire on us Brits.
“I love Summer, but I do love getting all wrapped up in jumpers and boots”. Is the standard response right?
But the thing is, even hats, jumpers, boots, three layers and slipper socks worn as actual day wear doesn’t cut it for me. I am basically a lizard, requiring at least four hours of warm sunshine on my skin to be able to function.
I mean, I love Christmas, and new autumn footwear (who doesn’t) but otherwise this time of year is pretty hard to face – the freezing, wet school runs first thing in the morning, which take me a good two hours to warm up from, just in time for heading out again for the pre school pick up.
Thanks to our new smart meter at home, there is a permanent dance around the thermostat played out – a few degrees up, a few degrees down. Back up. Back down. And let’s not even get started on the fan heater in the living room. To me worth every penny, to him, not so much. Whilst I’m shivering and contemplating cranking the heating up a degree or two, he arrives in through the door, declaring “It’s like a furnace in here”.
Invitations to parks are politely declined, as I look out the window and can’t imagine much worse than being further than two foot away from the radiator. Or, initial grand plans are tentatively backed out of, as the idea seems so much more fun that the actual reality.
I’ve come to the conclusion that there are two types of people in life – those who are hot (and not as in the Jamie Dornan type hot), and those who are cold blooded. My own family demonstrates this perfectly well, with the male line demonstrating the ability to wear shorts in February, and can be seen sweating and complaining of the heat by mid March. My mother and I however, both turn blue at the start of September, and can compare notes on our Raynauds presentation in extremities, resembling the fingers and toes of someone six feet under. Strange as it looks, it also results in a burning physical pain, especially if warmed up too quickly – something I learnt to avoid at a very young age. So as much as it pains me to say it, a polar explorer I’ll never be. In fact, so many times the hubby and I have watched some TV show with any kind of test of physical endurance involving being cold, and laughed that such a task would leave me probably, actually, brown bread.
I’ve no idea what way the girls are heading – neither having shown signs of any white fingers weirdness yet, but certainly been a few tears on the school run. If I had to call it I’d say Tigs, being one to kick off her school coat mid walk home (against my protests) is the polar opposite of me wheras her sister would happily live her best life in a onesie daily, is probably following in my heavily slippered footsteps.
At 36 years old, my childhood comforter, which still gets a fair bit of use in the winter months, is a ‘The Snowman’ hot water bottle. So, it seems, I have always been this way – one who craves comfort and warmth, literally, to feel at peace. In fact, whilst I will often be asleep before my head hits the pillow, should my toes feel a chill, I’ll be hopping right back out again to put that straight, as I can not sleep with cold feet.
In fact, To me, there is little worse than chilly tootsies, meaning I’m pretty particular about wearing shoes (or even slippers) without socks – i.e. it rarely happens unless we are hitting the high teen temperatures of late spring, and the mid twenties of summer. At which time you will find me happily living in flip flops, denim shorts, walking on the sunny side of the street, and finding literally ANY excuse to be out in the sun’s warm rays.
Until then, I’ll be here, under three layers of knitwear and two layers of foot cover. Hugging my eighth mug of tea and closing all the windows, again. By dusk I’ll be looking an image of pure seduction, with two layers of PJs, bed socks tucked in to avoid any air gaps, and a dressing gown, hood up – often worn in bed, under the 14 tog duck down duvet.
Because Mum is definitely, not hot.
Is this normal? Anyone else feel this way in the deepest darkest Winter months? Seriously YEARNING for some warmth and sunshine now!