8.11

You know that winter is officially here when the hideous old lady on Ten News tells you that yesterday was the coldest day in Melbourne for the year (3.7°C), leaves of the alien species in Melbourne start shedding their leaves, snow starts falling in the alpine regions and electricity bills go up up up with soaring heater and dryer use.

Occasionally I am reminded of the cold when I step out in the morning with the thickest jacket I can afford (which coincidentally is not very thick at all) but otherwise I am constantly in denial; sheltered from the cold when I enter a restaurant, a room, the train, David Jones, the corner café or The Peel where the heaters are blasting hot air to keep the temperature at a balmy 28°C, its hard to imagine that winter is already here.

But when the fog comes, no degree of mind control can keep you in denial.

We've not been hit with any significant rain lately, and the fog just makes matters worse because it’s like rain without the raindrops. You can feel the droplets gather on the lenses of your glasses as well as in your well-gelled hair.

The pavements are wet from all the microscopic droplets, vision is impaired and you can feel the chill burn through the five layers of wool that you are wearing, sending shivers up your bone and into your spine where you feel the pain rattle your brains and solidify your blood.

Even more so when you have to sit for a fucking exam in the Royal Exhibition Building in Carlton (namely, the 'wooden shed'), with no adequate heating, 15m high ceilings that dissipate whatever heat that is available and stone cold wooden floors under the thick soles of your shoes.



8.11am. 5.2°C. Six 400-word essays away and two frozen palms.

Bummer.