With neither dog nor man to keep me warm at nights,
and when the "week ahead" weather forecast warns of icy
conditions sweeping in from the Atlantic on
Friday evening, a girl needs to take serious stock
of her situation and make other arrangements if she wants
to avoid hypothermia at all costs.
"At all costs" are the three keywords here.
I don't care if I look ridiculous, besides it's much too
cold for paparazzi right now so no fear of embarassing
photographs emerging that could do untold damage to
my public image.
I don't mind if I feel a little overdressed and cumbersome for
a few nights if the alternative is waking up around 3am
with chattering teeth and a spooky blue tinge
around my lips.
And I'm certainly not afraid of becoming Acle's pop-up
answer to the dearth of fashionista's in Norfolk
in my attempts to keep warm. Anyway, according to
my favourite reference source for all things "street",
the Urban Dictionary says that REAL fashionistas
don't believe in trends - they set them!
So, last night, I went back to an old trick I picked up in
France at the Chateau. No, not that one Camilla, I'm still
receiving treatment from the last time I tried it.
I put on my thermal t-shirt (the one with a lurcher on the
front), a pair of red tartan jim-jam trousers followed
by my new fleece dressing gown with hood, which I pulled
up over my Inca dog walking hat and clambered
clumsily into bed. The two pairs of thick socks were
an afterthought which I deemed to be prudent.
Then Morpheus claimed me!
The next thing I knew it was 8am, the frost on the roofs
opposite was all fairytale and twinkly in the bright morning
sunshine, the temperature under my duvet had gone off the
scale and someone was banging impatiently on my front door.
Hey, ho - no peace for the wicked or the toasty oversleepers.
I had obviously made it unfrozen through another night.