A lot of people have their identity wrapped up in how late they can leave it before they put the heating on. If they can wait until November, they are restrained, stoical, masculine in all its best senses. If they can push it to Christmas Day, they are all those things plus they could probably live through a blitz without complaining, if only someone would give them the chance. If you are living with a person of this ilk, all I can tell you is that I once heard of a man whose Christmas present to his wife was heating vouchers that she could trade for warmth, until they ran out. So it could be worse, in other words.
I don’t have a dog in that fight, living under a tyranny of teenagers, who sometimes want it tropical and other times are so swayed by a 15-second energy-conservation video they saw on TikTok that they are prepared to wear gloves in the house. But I’m in profound denial about the outdoors. I honestly believe that if I can leave the house without a coat on, that means it’s not yet autumn. It’s an almost Truss-esque rebuttal of external realities.
