I like cold weather. I like the sound and smell of rain, and I like being woken by thunderstorms. Enormous coats and blanket sized scarves. Cups of tea used as hand warmers and too-big jumpers taken from my boyfriend’s side of the wardrobe. I like apple and cinnamon scented candles, slow cooked casseroles and stews and anything made with gravy and red wine. I like multiple layers and an excuse for bad hair days, central heating and hiding indoors without feeling like I should be out doing something more exciting. I like reading entire books under blankets on the sofa and cuddly pets stealing my
essence warmth curled up on my lap. I like hot chocolate after snow and salty tomato soup for every single lunch. Duvet days and visible breath and fallen leaves and dark mornings and night time.
And I like that I live with a man happy to join me in unsuitable clothing in the garden in a storm and jump around screaming because a) it’s just as cold as we suspected it would be and b) it probably wasn’t the best idea we’ve ever had but who cares as long as you’re laughing like nut jobs through chattering teeth?
I don’t like wet socks… You can’t have it all.