Apparently my internal thermostat is still set to Newcastle-local. I'm only cold in the evenings here, when it's bitter early morning on the Tyne. Karen comes in from work and expostulates about how hot the house is, and dashes about flinging windows wide to the weather; I put on a shirt and socks, and muttergrumble about how I was comfy before.
Come the morning, she shivers in her night attire and considers taking a shower just to warm up, while I brisk about saying how pleasantly fresh it is between the rains, and stroll off to the farmers' market in T-shirt and sandals.
One of us is probably unbearable.
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