Surviving London in winter: Part 1, goodbye autumn

Today marks the first chapter of a new life. I call it life with gloves. It ain’t chic but then again it ain’t your fingers throbbing with pain.

At least that’s how I feel about it. It’s how I felt about it on Friday night when I was walking home from a nice little Italian joint, and it certainly was how I was feeling at a frosty dawn run, although at the time I may have expressed it with some versatile four-lettered adjectives.

I had spoilt myself this year by following summer around the globe. From Coromandel and Napier in New Zealand to Cape Town in South Africa, and then again up north to Zanzibar. Finally I took the plunge and arrived in whatever passes for summer in England*. I thought it was cold then. Frankly, I had no idea. Everyone’s sick of hearing me ask the same question. “Does it get colder?” The short answer is, yeah, hell yeah it does.

Also suffering is kiwi mate Steve, who emailed last week with his frost status. “There is still frost out on the lawn and it’s freaking midday! This place is paradise.” Too right.

Indoors things are alright. Unlike New Zealand there are no qualms about central heating, insulation, and double-glazing. Pubs too are a haven of warmth, and will be more welcome in my plans to survive my first English winter in fifteen years. But I will survive. Two black pieces of fabric wrapped over my hands says I will.

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Another email from Steve (3pm): “Lawn update: There is still a 2 sq metre patch of frost. Unbelievable.”

PS: Your mate/boyfriend/husband/musical dude you know will love you forever if you buy them Sigur Ros‘ DVD Heima for Christmas.

PPS: Congrats to Steve for submitting his first post. Hopefully our little community will grow in time and this will be more than a once-a-week affair. I also may be pursuing more than just London stories. For those who don’t know, while I majored in textual analysis, Steve and I studied New Testament theology together in Vic. He also happens to be the only person I know to go on a hike during a storm with the words, “little wet out. Might want to wear a jacket.” Damn straight it was.

*Okay that’s not strictly true. I have it from multiple sources that English summer was a stinker. Still, butter side up, Autumn here has been described as ‘mild’.