Hey,

“I’m really not sure I can handle it,” I said. “It’s going to be so cold.”

I wasn’t preparing for a wild swim or anything brave—I was just boarding a plane from Tenerife to come back to the UK. Woe is me, right?

And my fears came true. Like wearing jeans with dodgy pockets, we climbed above the clouds and seemed to drop 20°C somewhere over the Atlantic. No chance of retracing those footsteps.

Standing in the cold November air outside East Midlands Airport, Greggs vegan sausage roll in hand, I knew that I hadn’t been overreacting. The cold was here and it embraced me tightly, like an old friend who, for all my trying, doesn’t seem to have ever been that kind to me. I've told myself for a while that escaping the worst of British winter is a bit of a life goal—to enjoy an extended summer and avoid the dark misery I've come to expect over the last 28 years.

Yeah, it’s been an intense adjustment. My skin’s getting dry. My feet are never quite comfortable. I’m wearing thermal baselayers around the house.

But something else is happening.

I’m starting to enjoy it. Again? At last? Anew?

We’re in picturesque Yorkshire right now, housesitting for friends, so that might be helping. We’re walking their dog in frost-thick fields and feeling the ground firmly unrelenting underfoot. The soft textures and gentle heat have given way to crisp edges and a sharpness in the air that grabs at my face and pulls it taught.

I guess I feel alive. I feel close to things—my footprints trace the icy pavements and the birdsong carries clearer in the air. I usually make myself miserable in January and February when the days refuse to extend and the rain comes ceaselessly. For that reason, I’m glad we’re leaving for Madeira in January… but I’m also glad we’re here now.

Maybe I’m developing a new relationship with winter? Maybe I just had an attitude problem to begin with? I’m going to stick with it and see where it takes me for the next few weeks.

Slow down guide

Need a little help moving slower?

Ease your way out of Friday afternoon with this newsletter, a nice cup of something, and a little background music. Steal my setup if you aren't sure where to start.

After I press send, I’ll be turning to a mug of Union Roasted’s Maraba roast. The first speciality coffee from Rwanda, they say. Now, I don’t know how provable a claim like that is, but I do know that the coffee tastes good. And when the coffee tastes good, that’s the end of the story. I’m here for tasty drinks that treat farmers fairly and pay everyone good wages—the rest is inconsequential.

Taking that approach to coffee—prioritising good ethics and practices, rather than the fanciest labels and claims—seems to have served me pretty well. It also saves me from the sharp edge of bullshit that comes with coffee. No bad thing at all.

This week’s musical accompaniment is the first time I’m not linking you to Spotify. Instead, take yourself over to YouTube to enjoy 16 minutes of magic in the beautiful shape of Stromae’s Tiny Desk Concert. Pay special attention to Santé (the second song)—see if you can work out wtf is going on with the time signature. Never heard anything like it.

Take it easy,