I am reading Cider with Rosie just now. It is quite a sweet book, but that isn't what I'm writing about this morning as such.

There is a chapter in the book where he remembers summers and winters. In his memory they are quite distinct from one another .. he says they are like different countries.

And it got me thinking about my summers and winters in childhood.

For some reason, when we lived in Australia, I don't remember one instance of being cold. Not one. I remember being barefoot, watching the tar bubbling on the roads, the air-con breaking, swimming in the pool at midnight. But I have not ONE memory of being cold or wearing a coat. Not one.

Bring us back to the UK and I have a few memories of being warm, I could probably count the weeks on my hands. Not many after 44 years of life! My abiding memories of living in the UK are of trying to get warm! Scraping the ice off the windows in the morning, to see the day. Trying to warm a warm and stylish coat (still not achieved!). I could go on and on about the UK cold.

So, yes, for me summer and winter are different countries, literally. I was never cold in Australia. I don't seem to have ever been warm for a long time in the UK.