The English like it cold

THERE is a nice warm glow inside me. That’s because I have just finished a nice meal and a nice drink at someone else’s expense, which is a nice reason to have a nice warm glow inside you.

Actually, that’s not quite true. I have a nice warm glow because it is nice and warm here. The sun has been shining non-stop -- well, sort of -- the last couple of weeks. Frankly, it’s worrying me.

I am not the only one. Even the natives are unsettled. Initially they thought it was only the summer. But now I see worried frowns.

Give the English wet wintry weather and they are in their element. They put on rain-jackets and gloves and Wellingtons, and allow their dogs to take them for a walk. A walk is usually a few miles each way, across the muckiest paths possible, and is most enjoyed when it is raining. En route they meet other dogs walking other Englishpeople. While the dogs stop to mark territory, they exchange smiles like semicolons, and remark what a jolly fine day it is.

But let there be a stretch of sun, and they can’t cope. They begin to burn. This is mainly because they pay tribute to Salman Khan, which is only natural, as he honestly deserves hefty tributes for his beauty and brains.

I mention all this since I want to come directly to the point and tell you the summer is here. While this means I don’t have to swallow frozen sandwiches for lunch anymore, it also means I don’t get to wear my black leather jacket. Which is a tragedy.

It’s a tragedy because the said item allowed me to carry half my office and quarter my home on my person. Besides, it made me look incredibly hunky. And it ensured I didn’t have to iron my clothes even once in the last six months.

Now I know why the English are content with the cold. I am beginning to see the wisdom of winter.