It was so bloody cold yesterday that I decided I could not get from the station to the university without suffering freezer-burn to the ears, so I went by Marks and Sparks to buy a beanie. This is the first piece of head-joy I have ever purchased, as I've always thought hats make me look a twat. I can just about carry off a beret, but they always look so self-consciously arty on blokes, so their twat factor is high, I feel. And the thing about beanies is that while they look very good on boys and young men, they somehow make middle-aged males look more emphatically middle-aged. Oh, this is such a pain. I mean, fuck it, middle age already feels like an unsuitable, ill-fitting outfit that you find yourself forced to wear, so you really don’t want accessories that abet the impression. I keep muttering about it, this outfit: ‘look, it just doesn't suit me, OK? I’m still thirty-five inside.’ But there’s no retailer to take it back to, so you are stuck with it. Anyway, I jammed my new purchase on my head as I left the store, and was immediately grateful for the warmer ears. However, I found I was walking fast with my head down, as one who does not want to be recognised. If I hurriedly doff the thing in your presence, do not flatter yourself that this is a mark of respect; it’s pure vanity. I've still got a bit left.
I don’t mind the cold, though, so long as I'm well insulated. I get SAD in reverse – summer makes me feel lethargic, and I sometimes feel alone in thoroughly disliking the insipid lingering light of British summer evenings. No, for me, winter, and the cosiness of winter. The door is bolted (why do I only think to bolt it in winter???) the curtains are closed on the world and the candles are lit. There’s chicken roasting, and wine to open soon. What’s not to like? Perfect introvert's weather. The temperature can stay below freezing forever.