Enough, already

Look, I'm sorry to keep banging on about this, but it's been bloody cold here. Frosts, people! In Auckland! It's not what I signed up for, frankly. 'Winterless north' is what I heard.

Cold and me go way back. I grew up in Christchurch, where we know a thing or two about chilly mornings. And raw afternoons. And frozen nights. Then I lived in England - yes, there was central heating, but I spent a lot of time outdoors; and one winter it got down to -15 C. And I've slept in a tent at over 3000 metres in the Andes; and in a swag in the Outback in winter 600km from the sea.

I've been so comfortable with the cold that on fabulous hoar-frosty days in England I've wandered around outside photographing the sparkling rime-coat that made even cow parsley beautiful, until my toes went solid.

(Sepia effect courtesy of nasty, valley-bottom mist, by the way.)

But now that I live in a wooden house with token insulation in the roof, none in the walls and nothing but wind whistling under the floorboards, I've had it with cold. My Aitutaki story came out this week, and it was so long ago that I was there, I read it as though it was someone else's, and could only think "How I'd love some of that hot sun and warm sea right now."

So what a good thing that two weeks today I'll be in Mauritius.