It's winter in Brisbane, and I can report that barefoot bowling on the river front, the day after considerable precipitation can be akin to walking barefoot in snow. The game was fun, and the company was great, the food OK as usual, and the afternoon tea sensational.
Then of course there was a quasi birthday dinner, the sixth of the month. Pizza, wood fired under the stars, or where the stars would have been had the clouds not obscured them, and fire and wooly jumpers in the backyard in a chilly seventeen degrees.
We felt all suitably wintery, until we phoned Shell in London, mocking their summer fourteen Celsius, and she informed us she was sitting in the warmth outdoors in a little sundress, lapping up some rays and making the most of the warmth.