People experience temperature differently here in Scotland. Either their blood is thicker or their skin is. It’s just how they’re made.
Then there’s me in my full length winter coat, vest, wool jumper, turtleneck, long sleeve shirt, underarmour, undershirt, replete with two pairs of socks and thick winter boots. Oh, did I mention the scarf?
Setting out each morning on my arctic expedition, I pass school girls in their thin school jackets and skirts, and I shake my head ruefully at morning joggers in hoodies and shorts. How do they do it? Are they just born this way?
Sometimes I wonder whether I’m the weird one, whether there’s something wrong with my blood, hyper-sensitive as I am to the cold (and I have to admit that I am especially prone to cold). But then someone will visit from a more normal country and affirm that no, the Scots are just made warm.
My father and his wife visited recently from Hungary and were aghast when they saw a little girl walking around town wearing only a t-shirt in 44°F (7°C) weather. Her parents were not in the least bit concerned – they were themselves sporting thin jackets – and the girl was happily prancing along without so much as a tremor from the strong, north winds blowing that day.
Like I said, it’s just how they’re made.
But what happens if you move to Scotland? Do you acclimate? My colleague from Australia, who moved to Scotland a few years ago, told me you do. Now when she returns to her tropical homeland, she can’t stand the heat and longs to return to the land of shiver and cold. Obviously, she’s not shivering and cold anymore.
But not I. No, I was sure there would be no thickening my blood. I have always delighted in tropical climates, and I still believe I am best suited to the Mediterranean.
But something strange happened yesterday.
The day dawned bright and radiant to a glowing sun that shone all day. In this blissfully warm weather, I walked outside without any coat and ate an ice cream by the water’s edge. The swans basked contentedly by the red phone box over the bay, and for 30 seconds I sat on a bench near them and enjoyed a moment of Spring.
Then I realized that actually the wind was strong as ever, my hands were frozen, and 50°F isn’t actually warm. I turned around, headed back to work, and made myself a cuppy to warm back up.
But for a few minutes yesterday afternoon, I ate an ice cream outside in the Scottish wind at 50°F. Perhaps my blood is starting to thicken.
The Dancing Bagpipe 