Morning:
8°c
As I write this I am sitting in the office in Kensington in my ski jacket. This extreme cold spell somehow excuses eccentricities of dress, or even conversation, perhaps because it's such a relief to think about something other than the wretched credit crunch. Indeed, should any readers be thinking of a new duvet and have a question about togs, the merits of Hungarian versus Siberian goose down and whether it should be plucked from bird or nest, please come to me, because I am unable to think about anything bar the chill and therefore could write a dissertation on winter bedding. (FYI, it has to be 13.5 tog and not in two button-together bits. You will always lose the half you need.)
If it is cold for too much longer, I fear it will have a permanent warping effect on Londoners' temperament. Last night I sat freezing in a new Soho restaurant as a plucky waiter stuck masking tape round the fire door in an attempt to keep out the Arctic draught. Still our legs froze as the Scottish owner giggled helplessly. Much red wine and risotto was ordered. All notions of detox, no or low-carb, alcohol-free Januaries have fled as the temperature has dropped.
Russian behaviour - eating stodge, drinking vodka, shouting, bumping each other off and wearing fur head to toe - suddenly makes sense. They are just reacting to the weather, stamping about to keep their blood flowing and to check they are still alive. Russians in London say the cold here is worse than at home, because we are so mentally unprepared for it that we make it feel like a catastrophe, or an epidemic. We can't dress suitably because we feel self-conscious about fur - we think someone might egg us on the Tube - whereas in Russia, where it is a matter of life or death, there is little time for such sensitivities.
On Sunday I locked myself out of my house with no phone and no money, and had to walk for half an hour through London clutching a walnut cake and some candles (it's a long story.) I ended up with windburn on my cheeks. I presume that had I been a Muscovite, I would have taken more care with my keys and dress sense and avoided this pickle.
A chill worse than the depths of hell and impending financial apocalypse (if you believe all those sages who never saw it coming) have combined to make everyone feel a little giddy. Which may not be such a bad thing in the circumstances. Bring on the borscht.
* Catherine Ostler is editor of ES Magazine.
Reader views (7)
cheers, from a baking hot New Zealand. Emigrate to warmer climes, then you wont need to moan about the weather.
- Dom Duncan, Auckland, NZ, 08/01/2009 01:13
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Bravo Ms Ostler!
Indeed, our mild temperaments boast a long history of histrionics when it comes to 'extreme' weather conditions.
I've quoted you over at the History Today magazine blog
Derry
- Derry, London, UK, 07/01/2009 15:39
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Privet, Katarina, I suggest you hide a key outside in case of such emergency. Bet you wish that had before!
PS. My house is lovely and warm.
- Nigel Tegg, Kingston, UK, 07/01/2009 13:57
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What a coincidence - I've just started reading "Crime and Punishment"! I felt the conditions were appropriate, somehow ...
- Katie, London, UK, 07/01/2009 13:47
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If you were really living like a Russian you would stop this wimpy whingeing and not bother discussing weather that's barely below freezing most of the time.
- Mark, London, 07/01/2009 13:32
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I could not agree with you more. Tis the season to dump your muesli, embrace your steaming fatty shepherds pie and pile on as many vests and shirts that your largest coat can still button up with and do not forget your hat that should never be seen in public, wear it with pride.
- Roger, Surrey, 07/01/2009 12:24
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Have taken your advice and have started living like a Russian,my Vodka supplies are now seriously depleted and I cannot get out of the house to go out in the cold.
- Nigel, wimbledon, 07/01/2009 11:00
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