Having tired of the Brussel's sprout diet, the Shampoo-Free-Hair Program, and the unwashed-jeans-a-thon, I am currently participating in the Seasonality Challenge. This entails ignoring the realities of meteorological change and insisting that Winter doesn't kick in until the 1st of June. Because it is not Winter, because, according to the luminaries at Seasonality Challenge HQ, it is now Autumn, and because Autumn is all about flitting around in flimsy cardigans, gathering in the acorns, and watching the apples ripen, Hôtel Harlot hasn't turned on its heater yet. No heater til Winter. No roast chestnuts either. Or bedsocks. Or rollicking garblings of "Good King Wencesles", though the snow was crew-ell.
Given that we are at the sultry zenith of subtropical Autumn for another week, Seasonality Challenge or no, I am obliged to say that it is jolly freezing. The digits have been lobbying for a pair of mittens for five days now. But it would be an affront to the autumnity of Autumn for me to capitulate. Be strong, wee fingers. Next week we'll be girt, nose to toe, in ski-suit.