At what point in London’s changing of the seasons do you start to feel dread with each dropping degree? For me, it’s mid-November, when the leaves have nearly all changed and the bus starts to smell like warm, damp coats (the human equivalent of wet dog scent).
Even as a person who’s partial to winter (Jackets! Hats! Scarves! Boots! Etc), I find London’s colder months to be a real challenge. There’s a running joke among Londoners that winter is the penance we pay for how good the city is in summer. The idea that the depths of winter might actually be enjoyable is laughable, even ridiculous. Friends of mine have fled the city long-term, seeking the milder temperatures of Barcelona or the guaranteed warmth of Australia.
