High Heels: A Break-Up Letter

A messy break-up.

Dear High Heels,

We tried to make it work. We tried to pretend that it was worth the pain, but I can’t lie to myself or you anymore.

I’d had my eye on you for years – I saw you doing your thing on the red carpet, in movies, on proper grown-ups. When we first met, I was young, and you were this glamorous, sexy, exciting glimpse into adulthood. Like red lipstick, cars with actual engines, or a glittery mortgage form.

I’m older and wiser, and now I see you for what you really are. You’re just a drunken dream: like donner kebabs, pissing on statues and swimming naked, you’re best left for alcohol-fuzzied moments. And that’s great. But it’s just not me.

Then there’s the way you slow me down. I’m going places, and you’re holding me back. I see the road spreading out before me. Sometimes there are cobbles, sometimes there is mud, sometimes there are floors that have been buffed to resemble an ice rink. I need to be able to take these on, to get through anything I meet, and I cannot do that with you. You don’t have the support I need. I have to get my feet back on the ground, to stand on my own without stumbling.

And you hurt me, too. I didn’t even realise in the moment, but every time we parted, I saw that you’d been trying to change the way I am. I thought it would just take time to get used to you, but I’ve realised now that we’re fundamentally different. Look, it’s not your fault. We had some good nights, a lot of fun. Perhaps I should have made more effort, given you more chances, but I’m pretty stubborn, and my feet just don’t bend that way.

The other thing is, I met someone else who gets me. Who I don’t have to change for. Who’ll work with what I want to do, whether I’m running around the city, just relaxing in the house, wearing a dress, shorts, anything. They’re called flats. Sure, they don't have that edgy vibe that you give so effortlessly, but we’re comfortable with each other in a way you and I never could be.

You’re not the bad guy in this; you have so many fantastic traits I’ll miss. You’re uplifting, you put a power in my step that I don’t get from anyone else - and you’re really good looking. Other people are spellbound by you. There are books, movies, exhibitions raving about your charms. I’ve seen you with other women and you look so much better. Now you can find someone who truly appreciates your best qualities.

We had a good run (well, hobble) but we both need to move on. I wish you nothing but the best. I’ll smile when I see you on the red carpet, on another woman’s feet, and remember the times you made me sparkle too. But I’ll be doing it in shoes that love me back.

All the best,

Tasha

Five things I learned from travelling alone

Amsterdam... somewhere

Some people can’t even imagine drinking a coffee on their own, while others will eagerly send themselves to the other side of the world, phone off and backpack in hand. Going it alone isn’t for everyone, but there are definite benefits to taking the plunge and travelling solo. Determined to give my passport some use but without the patience to begin a lengthy dialogue about where to go, I said goodbye to London and Guten Tag to Berlin, hallo to Amsterdam and salut to Paris on my own. My language skills didn't take off much beyond this, but I did learn some other things along the way.  

Appreciate the brilliance of being alone

As David Foster Wallace rather gloomily pointed out, we are all of us marooned in our own skulls - we are all ultimately alone. We can either drive ourselves mad constantly scanning the horizon for the glimpse of another ship, or we can roll up our sleeves, hunt out a reliable water source, and get on with it Swiss Family Robinson-style. When you travel solo, chances are you will be on your own for at least some time, whether that’s on the flight over, for a long train journey, or even just lunch. This is actually quite fun. No, seriously.

Having no one else to worry about means you can do whatever you want without worrying about seeming rude or inattentive. Want to stare out the window aimlessly for four hours? Or listen to a podcast without seeming antisocial? Or just catch some sleep? No one can distract you or complain. Or post photos of you mid-nap on social media.

I think many struggle more with this around meals, but eating alone can also be something of a relief. Not only can you use a fork instead of chopsticks without judgement, but there’s no one to argue with over where you eat, no small talk, and all the time in the world to people-watch, eavesdrop on conversations (like eating off the floor, we’ve all done it, so don’t get high and mighty) or just to read. I’m not saying we should all seal ourselves up inside one-person-only cells for the rest of our lives, but learning how to spend a few hours or days on your own is good brain training.

You will meet awesome people

Getting out of your comfort zone gives you the chance to meet people you would otherwise never have crossed paths with. Whether it’s for a dinner, a day, a weekend or the rest of your life, taking the opportunity to get to know someone else's point of view can only teach you more about what's outside your own little bubble. Not everyone you meet will be your new best friend, and you're lucky if you find someone like that, but it's still worth talking to them.

However, the caveat is that to find these fantastic fellow wanderers, you also have to put the effort in. Luckily, it’s easier to be brave when you’re in a place where no one knows you, plus being deprived of conversation will make you more keen to take a chance when the opportunity arises. Strike up a chat with the person on the plane, say hi to that person in the park who caught your eye. You never know, it could be the start of an interesting discussion or a beautiful friendship (or just really fun). 

More practically, you also have to put yourself in social situations, which probably means hostels. Do your research before you go, and make sure other solo travellers have ticked yours off as a good place to meet like-minded people, rather than couples and groups of friends who are more likely to stick in their own little circle. No one is saying that sharing a room with 10 strangers and all their various smells, snores and nocturnal activities is glamorous. However, in between cursing the guy two bunks over for his persistent tractor imitation, and silently begging the couple in the next bed to just hold off for one night (both true stories), this is the place to meet people. Finding a hostel with a bar and/or communal area is another good tactic. Even if you don’t drink, this is a great place to meet people open to making new friends. This works even better if some big sporting event is on. Who cares if no one there has anyone competing in the curling: pick a side, place a bet, and get ready to cheer.

You can go wherever you want

Forget being dragged shopping for four hours, or to the Chair Museum, or to slowly roast on a beach in the sun all day. You’re the boss and you set your own itinerary. You can be selfish and not have to waste your time doing things others in a group might love but which bore you to tears. Want to go to another museum? Go ahead. Feel like a long wander through the city? Sure. This can actually be a bit scary, as it means that if you don’t take responsibility for filling your days, you won’t actually do anything. Get some guide books and a map before you go, and highlight the stuff you want to see, then work out a sensible way to get round it. You can do this on the plane, if you focus (not that anyone would leave it that late). Even if you don’t see it all, this will make sure you get to the crucial bits. You can also book tours and activities once you’re there, to make sure you drag yourself out of bed and at least do something vaguely holiday-like.

Arriving is the worst

No matter how excited and prepared you are, it’s normal to experience a feeling of being completely overwhelmed by everything around you when you first arrive, as well as by everyone else seemingly knowing where they’re going. Knowing that this ‘small fish in a big sea’ feeling is coming should make it easier to handle. It might be tempting to hide in a corner and rock on your knees while wondering when the next flight home is or testing out the 'No place like home' heel clicks, but you’ll feel much better if you force yourself to get out and do something in your new environment. It will go away, so don’t worry about it: just focus on your day.

You will get lost and it will be fine

I spent much of my time alone in varying degrees of being lost. These range from, ‘I know I just have to go left down this street somewhere,’ to ‘I’m sure I’ve walked past this desolate Soviet-era building/quaint bakery/sex shop at least twice already,’ to ‘It’s getting dark, I’m not even on this map, and I’m pretty sure those are vultures.’ 

As I've recorded on this blog several times before, I can’t read maps, so if you also suffer from this, a bonus tip is to learn how to read maps before you go. Also, always read the full name of the street, as it turns out that evil city planners really like to give very close roads similar names. And map-illiterate people like to totally ignore them when they do. If you plan nothing else, make sure you know where your hostel is from the station or airport. In my experience, locals know when you’re lost, and they will try and help you – at least they will if you’re a 23-year-old woman.

There’s also something to be said for smartphones. Everyone is glued to these anyway, and since I didn’t use one, every time I pulled out the last remaining paper map of Amsterdam in existence (which was, on average, every two minutes and eighteen seconds), everyone around me could see I was a gullible tourist with no idea where I was. Everyone except for the couple who asked me for directions, despite the loud and proud ‘I <3 Amsterdam’ t-shirt. (Oddly I actually knew where I was at that moment; is this what you people feel like all the time?) 

Luckily, getting lost can actually lead you to places you wouldn’t otherwise have found, like the art studio in Paris run by a charming and talented guy from Portland delightfully named Buzz, and the colourful neighbourhood in Berlin dotted with the types of gypsy caravans Enid Blyton wrote about, as well as bits of the Wall. That said, the relief at getting back home and knowing where you’re going without having to pull out a map every two seconds makes you want to run down the well-known street, tearing that frustrating bit of paper into confetti and screaming 'I'M HOME AND I KNOW WHERE I AM!' Until you take a wrong turn.

The Hot List: Alex Vause

Fictional or flesh and blood, waiting in the pages of a book or splashed across your screens, some humans send your personal mercury reaching just that little bit closer to fetch-me-the-smelling-salts. The Hot List is a celebration of the totally unattainable, the ones who just wouldn't ever work out even if you could swing a cosy candlelit meeting. Up first is Alex Vause, a bad girl who proves that you can have killer taste in specs but still be totally blind when it comes to love. 

Vause-some

For the still uninitiated, Alex (played by Laura Prepon) is the heroin-dealing love/hate interest of lead inmate Piper in Netflix series Orange is the New Black. If you haven’t seen it, cancel your life plans for the next 26 hours, and go and binge. It’s fine, the rest of us will wait…

It’s great, right? To recap, Alex’s dodgy dealings land her and former girlfriend Piper in Litchfield Prison, where our anti-heroine is sent to clean up her act and the inmates’ underwear in the laundry rooms. Sadly her smart humour is grossly underappreciated among her ‘colleagues’, a bunch of homophobic evangelists who display an unusual amount of imagination with the nickname Lurch.

Alex is far from a Frankenstein, even if that super glossy hair could give Elsa Lanchester’s Bride a run for her money in the fabulousness stakes. (Seriously, is there a black market in conditioner in that prison?) Pasty people everywhere are now looking at shapeless beige PJs as a very real fashion option, thanks to that no-shits-given attitude with which Vause pulls them off. Even more importantly, she may have single-handedly proven to every vision-impaired girl watching that while Hollywood would have us all believe glasses should be snapped, chucked and replaced with contacts before you can say bi-focals, it’s absolutely possible to look smokin’ in specs. Already broken your glasses in a fit of rage? Make like Vause and accessorise with tape. Move aside, Potter, the DIY fixer-upper has never looked so good.

However, behind that wry sense of humour and permanently raised eyebrow, you know that Alex does care what people think. The character hits viewers a bit like Marmite’s supposed to. Some would describe her as a self-centred, heroin-dealing, manipulative narcissist – but you get the feeling that she would be one of them. After being abandoned by her father and living through the standard high school bullying everyone without the right brand of trainers gets, Alex has known all along that she’s far from perfect. That often brutal honesty reveals not just a keen observation of other people’s issues, but a self-awareness, even if she’s powerless to change. Her ambition to keep going in the heroin trade comes from her sense that she has to work extra hard to get people to love and respect her.

She might be tougher now, but we still get flashes of this insecurity. Perhaps it’s remembering this need to fit in that explains why she’s so taken with Piper. Suddenly, a rich, blonde, spoilt brat is drawn in by the mad lifestyle and awkward differentness that once marked her out for isolation. It makes it all the more powerful when she turns Piper down. Sorry, Pipes. Be less annoying.  

Not everyone gets Alex’s blend of devil-may-care charm, sardonic humour, blunt and swift honesty, and heart melting vulnerability. But you get the sense that she’ll probably get over it.

Specs appeal..

'Baby it's cold outside': aka 'What part of no don't you understand?'

An admission

I love this song. I sing it in the shower, I sing it when I’m cooking dinner, I sing it (very quietly) when I’m walking down London streets glittering with icy blue Christmas lights that make you feel like you’re in Richard Curtis’s latest film. It’s like champagne: light, joyfully giddy, with a gentle fizz that whispers of fun to come - the sort of thing that would appear in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel before the characters swirl off to some glamorous party, ready to chat each other up while waltzing beneath an outrageously expensive chandelier. However, just like champagne (and F. Scott Fitzgerald novels) there is a darker, toxic element to this ostensibly charming little ditty.

The reading of this teasing back-and-forth that we've all been merrily accepting is that it’s a mutual flirtation. The seductee wants to stay. We all know they're secretly dying to let the seducer slip off that fur stole and pull them into the depths of the plush leather sofa, as the camera sweeps slowly and discreetly over to the roaring fire. It’s not a genuine disinterest that’s got them pulling on the parka and braving the blizzard, but a concern over what the neighbours, Mummy, Daddy, sister Shelly and brother Charles will make of this scandalous overnight stay. Right?

OK, perhaps. But if, for a moment, we could all take off our ‘Getting through the day’ hats and replace them with our ‘Think like a social critic’ ones, it’s possible to see that what we're actually being treated to when this pops onto the radio is another example of the struggle our culture faces with the tricky concept of consent.

For the delicate of mind

If you really can’t bear the thought of having your favourite festive tune carved up like a turkey, and would prefer to pour another glass of bubbly and ignore that inconvenient subtext, stop reading now and have a refill. However, I personally believe that as pop culture is unavoidably impacted by larger societal norms, you can enjoy something on a superficial level while also acknowledging that, perhaps, it also contains more disturbing undercurrents that need to be addressed, lest we all keep making these same mistakes.

A story of wolf and mouse

The original score gives us the first clue that there might be some more sinister power dynamics at play here. The seducing voice, the one that’s obsessed with the climate, is identified as the ‘wolf’, with the other, demurring participant labelled as the ‘mouse’. I’m no biologist, but I know Little Red Riding Hood, and in my mind this sets up a predator/prey relationship right from the outset.

Dirty tactics

Now let’s check out some of those lyrics. The mouse is definitely sure that they absolutely, really, seriously, need to go. Like, now. They are wrapping up the night’s events with all those charming niceties: ‘This evening has been so very nice.’ Translation: 'You're cool and all but the last Tube is about to leave, and I have an episode of Orange is the New Black and the world's cosiest reindeer onesie waiting for me.' Nevertheless, our protagonist perseveres:

Tactic One: Sweet talking

Examples: ‘Beautiful, what’s your hurry?’ ‘Your eyes are like starlight now’. ‘Your hair looks swell’.

Intention

This wolf is no Andrew Marvell, but while they might not have the most convincing ammunition, they’re definitely willing to wield flattery as a weapon in this power struggle. Phase one is to coax the mouse into believing that they are the most desirable human being to wander the Earth since Helen of Troy, leaving hoards of maddened admirers drooling helplessly in their wake, and that they are therefore also the one with the control, the one who can say yes or no. The hope is that they will be so blinded by these charming comments that they will return the favour by giving in and throwing another log on the fire. That's all well and good if they were already toying with the idea of sticking around, but by identifying sex appeal as the valid measure of worth, the wolf ensures that the mouse feels the only stake they have in the game is as an object of sexual desire.  This objectification plays nicely into…

Tactic Two: The guilt trip

Evidence: ‘What’s the sense in hurting my pride?’ ‘How can you do this thing to me?’

Intention

That sheep costume is starting to slip, and we get a hint of this wolf’s true colours. The mouse has been giving off very obvious signals that they are not interested in seeing out the embers of that fire. In fact, just to remove any trace of doubt, at one point they say, 'The answer is no.' Not, 'Give it a few more drinks and we'll see,' not 'Alright then, but can we please finish the movie first.' NO.

As all socially competent people know, this is the cue to say, 'I must say that I am personally disappointed to have my expectations shattered, but I respect your decision. Let me find your coat, please do take a cookie for the road.' Unfortunately, we're dealing with a wolf, so despite the mouse's assertions, protests and outright refusals, they continue to insist that the mouse's unwitting allure has driven them into a state of wild desire. Now comes phase two: the guilt.

Suddenly, the power that was apparently handed over is no longer something that can be used to control the situation, but the burden of choice. From here, the wolf can trowel on the guilt like an overly ambitious baker with a bowl of buttercream. The mouse had a nice time, they like this wolf. Hearing that they’re hurting the wolf’s feelings makes them feel guilty. This wasn’t their intention, they just wanted to have an eggnog and a few mince pies with someone they find rather dishy. Suddenly, they’re being told that if they continue to ‘hold out’, as the song puts it, they’re being a cold-hearted tease. Suddenly, the assertion that you alone should be allowed to control your own body is not a human right but a selfish denial of another human’s needs.

Gender politics

I’ve been trying to avoid referencing gender, because I believe that this sort of pressure can be applied by anyone in any relationship. However, when the song is performed by a man and woman, the wolf is generally a man, and the mouse a woman, in accordance with the original score. (Although those without an aversion to ukeleles in Christmas songs can check out this version by She & Him for an interesting role reversal.) In this set up, the song also invokes that troubling virgin/whore issue women are left to negotiate. Her denial is a game, played out to show that she’s not so sexualised that she doesn't fret over what society will say, as represented by her vicious aunt and those pesky neighbours peering through their net curtains. If a woman is 'too willing' to test out the suspension on that sofa, she's the one making the demands, and is therefore the one with the power. However, she can't be so chaste that she’ll reject the seducer's advances outright. When your worth is measured solely by how willing you are to 'give it up', refusing to do so makes you a pointless participant.

Being outright creepy

Being told that there are ‘No cabs to be had out there’ is a bit like that scene in a horror film when the hatchet-wielding villain is two paces away and - oh no! - the car won't start. Yes, if you're looking for a reason to stay, totally forgetting about Hail-o is a magical excuse for stopping over for a bit of Christmas canoodling, but remember that the mouse has stated their total aversion to this plan. Reminding them that there's no handy method of escape becomes quite threatening, as they are left alone to negotiate this increasingly pressured situation.

We need to talk about booze
Now come on Tasha, I hear you say, there's every chance that those drinks they’re pouring are steaming mugs of hot chocolate or a nice cup of tea. However, since we’re all grown-ups, let’s assume it’s something a little stronger. That said, apparently our mouse isn’t clear either, asking ‘What’s in this drink?’ This is one of the trickiest lines to gloss prettily over. In our most optimistic moments, we can say that it's intended as a light-hearted way to show that the booze is helping our mouse to forget about All Of The Judgement so they can acknowledge their own desires and do The Thing they definitely, absolutely, totally want to do (no matter what they're saying to the contrary.)

However, whatever the intention, and whatever chemical assortment we're supposed to believe is in that drink, it now sounds uncomfortably like something is being used to cloud their judgement and leave them more susceptible to the wolf's plans. Maybe, when we’re doing our Serious Reading of this song, it would be wise to acknowledge that this should be one of those squirm-inducing lines that, much like guillotines, blue mascara and miasma theory, was ‘of its time’, rather than a nice little tongue-in-cheek reference to the inhibition-relieving effects of alcohol.

So what now?

Well done for making it all the way through this highly unfestive destruction of a classic song. The purpose was not to reduce a once frothy and charming winter tune to a pile of smoking glitter, but to demonstrate that our struggle to take the concept of consent seriously, and the sexual double standard, are so rampant that they pop up in songs that are supposed to be merry and bright harmless fun. While I hope you’re taking something from this, or just nodding vehemently in agreement, you may now replace your social critic hat with a paper crown, and get back to truly Christmassy pursuits a little more willing to look into the subtext.

What it’s like to be a triplet

Part of me dreads the moment when the question of siblings comes up. I understand that people who haven’t bumped into many of Our Kind before are curious about what it’s like, but I still find it uncomfortable seeing your eyes widen slightly in surprise, as two more of me appear before you, like a drunken mirage. In my 24 years of experience, your first response will likely go one of four ways:

1. Are you identical?
2. I’ve never met a triplet before.
3. My friend’s cousin’s ex-boyfriend’s mother is a triplet.
4. Did your parents have fertility treatment?

Here are my responses.

1. I am fascinated by this question. It’s particularly fun if we’ve just been discussing my brother, and you’ve only found out I’m a triplet when I reveal we’re the same age. Firstly, while Matt is a fine-looking guy, I’d rather not look like him. Especially the beard. Secondly, having triplets at all is pretty freaky, having three who are genetically identical is about as likely as plunging your hand into a haystack and pulling out the needle you lost in there three months ago. OK, I haven’t checked the actual odds, but the point is, it’s not likely. I think the reason that perfectly logical people tend to jump to this one is that it helps you get your head around the visuals of three siblings all born at once.
2. Lucky me, taking your triplet virginity. Unfortunately you’re the 800^th person who’s told me that. Have a balloon and a sticker.
3. I probably know them through our secret triplet club* even though they live in Alaska. And you can definitely ascribe all aspects of their personality and life to me.
4. Er, can we please not discuss my parents’ sexual activities? On hearing that your birthday is in September, I don’t casually ask if that means your parents got a bit randy after one too many Christmas sherries, or whether you were conceived to the sound of Michael Buble’s Christmas hits, or Noddy Holder’s shrieking vocals. Luckily, it’s generally my mum who gets this one. The last person who asked me this didn’t exactly have an astute understanding of personal boundaries.

In fairness, I can understand the thought process behind these responses. Being a triplet is rare enough that it warrants comment, but it’s not a personal achievement that you can congratulate me on, or get much conversational material from. It’s even harder when I have to explain that I’m a triplet as context to an anecdote, as it inevitably sounds like I’m somehow bragging about my ‘special’ status.

Most of the time, the conversation moves on to more interesting matters. Sometimes, however, people want to know ‘What’s it like being a triplet?’ Here’s my carefully thought-through, incredibly insightful first-hand account.

I have no idea. To me – to us – you’re the freak. What do you mean you’ve never shared your birthday with two other people? How is it that you’ve never had your sibling in the same school year as you?

OK, since I reeled you in this far based on that title, I'll give it a go. On the one hand, we were all on a level playing field from the start. There’s no age-related basis for any of us to take all the responsibility (although it often gets shared out along gender lines instead.) There’s no ‘Why is he allowed to watch The Exorcist when I’m stuck with Thomas the Tank Engine?’ or ‘Why can she can drink vodka shots in the pub all night when I have a 9pm curfew?’ when you’re all the same age. The rules got made up and applied to all of us at the same time, so there was no sense of injustice over ‘But Stacey got a car when she was seventeen, where’s mine?’

There are drawbacks, too. Getting everything in one hit, tripled, can be tough. Events like exam results become highly pressured, as our parents are faced with comforting and celebrating at the same time. Worse than that, however, is the tendency for others to view us as a big lump, vaguely divided into three. As any siblings can attest to, this was probably not helped by the matching clothes (thanks for that, Mum).

This is less of a problem now we’re all spread out and making our own friends, but when we were younger, we were very much viewed as ‘The Triplets’. Even when alone, it often felt as though people could only properly place me when they remembered that ah, yes, you’re one of the three. Even science turned against us: I remember one dispiriting program where Professor Robert Winston cheerfully announced that the reason humans don’t give birth to more than one child at once is so we learn to love our offspring as individuals, and are therefore more likely to take care of them in the face of sabre-tooth tiger attacks. Thanks, Bob.

This tendency to picture triplets as clones, rather than separate people, is even funnier because the three of us are as different as, you know, ‘normal’ siblings. Matt speaks rarely but thoughtfully, and has an outrageously dark sense of humour and a love of horror films that would leave me sleeping bolt upright with a shotgun for months. Claire has a beautifully artistic mind and the skills to match, is very messy (own it, sis), and incredibly empathetic. I am bossy, efficient with everything but timekeeping, and with a tendency to babble into any conversational silence. Yes, there are similarities between us, like our eyes and a fondness for feminist outbursts, but no more than you would expect from fraternal siblings of any age gap.

Similarly, just as people assume the youngest child is spoilt and the oldest is in charge, being a triplet has not endowed me with personality traits you might expect someone who's always been flanked by two others to have. It definitely has not made me good at sharing. I tend to be independent, and I don’t like being told what to do, and I never have.

I’m sorry to squash anyone’s fantasies about how amazing it would be to have a sibling who can double as another you, as seems to happen in all those delightful books you grew up reading (Double Act was a personal favourite). However, the happy truth is that any siblings, or even friends, who spend enough time together can develop that almost uncanny psychic bond. You don’t need to share a womb, a birthday cake or a bloodline to connect with someone like that. 

Ultimately, I know that as with having a sibling of any age, the experience of being a triplet has shaped my identity and my life. However, I’d also like to think there are more important and interesting things to me than the fact I share my birthday with two other awesome Lavenders.

*Actually, there is a secret triplet club. It’s called Super Twins, which is a term for multiple births of more than twins, who apparently aren’t impressive enough any more. It wasn’t actually the place where we all made triplet-only conspiracies as much as an opportunity for our parents to find solidarity and alcohol while we all ran riot in whoever’s house was due to be destroyed that month. 

15 Things people who are always cold want you to know

Just remember, cold hands = warm heart and excellent drink-holding capabilities.

1.    Gloves are required all year round. There’s a six week period between July to August when you don’t have a trusty pair on hand.

2.    It takes a pep talk to get yourself out of the shower. And probably silent screaming, weeping and swearing.

3.    Snowy movies leave you cold. The Day After Tomorrow, Frozen and this LOTR clip produce the same nervous tension as a blood-soaked horror fest.

4.    You worry for movie characters who go charging off on adventures without adequate clothing. Don’t forget your sweater, Indy. Say what you will about the guy, but Bane knew what he was doing when it came to weather-appropriate wear.

5.    Gilets are pointless and must be stopped. Why would you create something so cosy and then cut off the arms? It's like buying rollerskates and throwing away the wheels.

6.    You feel slightly suspicious of people who wear t-shirts through November. This is a safe space: no one will judge you for accepting that you're a human, not a polar bear, and putting on a jacket.

7.    Shaking hands is a tense moment. An icy, deathlike grip does not make the greatest first impression.

8.    …Especially if you also experience Raynaud’s phenomenon. Apparently about 12% of men and 20% of women have this delightful condition. A drop in the temperature causes the capillaries in your fingers and toes to go into spasm, shutting off the blood supply until they go numb and pinchy, and take on a charming corpse-like colour. Wiggling helps, but also makes you look like you’re hatching evil plans, or that you're trying out for the Toros.

9.   Reusable hand warmers, hot water bottles and microwaveable slippers are top of your wishlist. Anything to break up all the cold.

10.  You have a deep and abiding hatred of air con. Air con was brought to Britain by sadists who don’t want us to enjoy the few days of the year when we can feel the ends of our toes. It’s also started more office wars than stolen packed lunches and soggy teabags in the sink.

11.  Strangers think you're overreacting. Yes, I really do need this scarf and woolly hat in September. No, I don't need your pity. Unless I can turn it into heat and use it to thaw out my ears.

12.  Hot people are the best. Forget sense of humour, witty conversation and a decent taste in films: a high body temperature is the most attractive trait. Bonus points if they also have warm clothes they’re willing to share.

13.  Sweat feels like a victory. I’ve got to a point where I’m so warm my body has to adjust itself to cope? WIN.

14.  Outside activities do not hold the same appeal. BBQ? Beach trip? Picnic? Yes, I think I have enough woolly jumpers to get through that. Better pack the tinfoil just in case.

15.  However, all this means that the moment when sun finally reaches your poor, freezing body is a total revelation. Like eating a gooey chocolate brownie, but under your skin.

Cake, fruit and flu: Six bits of office etiquette we all need to know

It's not just KPIs, EODs and NAVs that can leave you in a mind-twisting muddle at work. The unwritten social rules of the desk jungle require some untangling if you want to be a hit and not, well, Jerry. Here are six suggestions to stay in everyone's good books. 

1. Don’t come in when you’re sick

You might think you’re impressing your colleagues by dragging yourself to your desk when every microbe in your being is telling you to stay in bed with a box of tissues and a meth lab’s worth of Sudafed. In reality, not only are you are grossing everyone out, but your unnecessary efforts put pressure on us to do the same when we inevitably catch your germs and succumb to the same grizzly illness. Stay in bed, eat chicken soup, and watch Game of Thrones. Your body and everyone in your immediate vicinity will thank you in the long run.

2. Do make/buy cake…

Forget taking on extra projects and doing the tea run: the best way to ingratiate yourself with everyone at work is by casually rocking up with a chocolate covered something to fill that 3pm (or 9am) craving. It’s not just the sugar rush that people appreciate – bringing in a treat shows you’re a sympathetic human being who’s spotted the need for a morale boost. You’re basically a superhero with an apron instead of a cape.

3. … but don’t be offended if people don’t want any

Most of your colleagues will likely be more than happy to dig in the moment the clock strikes 12, but don’t be offended if someone politely declines. As long as they aren’t tutting and moaning loudly about the disgusting calorie content of Krispy Kremes, or muttering darkly about the gluten in that apple pie, they’re perfectly within their rights to pass on the pudding. Understand that they’re probably still grateful and give them the BOTD: they might have a special dinner planned, be desperately trying to follow a diet, or just not have the taste buds required to appreciate courgette cake.  

4. Don't steal pens

It's just another rainy Tuesday morning at the office, when a solid gold, change-the-world, million-making idea bursts into your head like a floodlight on a stage, just waiting to be captured. You grab your notebook and reach for your trusty biro - only to find that some unscrupulous colleague has nicked it to write their shopping list. Pens are second only to hair clips and odd socks in their ability to disappear at will. Hide your stack somewhere discrete, and resist the temptation to grab someone else's when inspiration strikes again. If you're not part of the solution, you're just another pen thief.

5. Know your fruit allowance

Since you’re working in an office, you’ve probably got at least 16 years of life behind you, during which time you’ve hopefully encountered fruit in some form. If your workplace is one of those caring kinds that get in a regular order of fruit, avoid annoying everyone by indulging in your share and no more. Use some common sense: no one is going to expect you to split a banana with them or go halfsies on an apple, but that whole bunch of grapes or the entire pot of dried dates is not a serving for one person. Don’t be a fruit hog - let everyone get their vitamin C. No one will feel like they've been conned, and you'll all be much better protected from the evil person bringing their lurgies to the weekly meeting.

6. Don’t contact people on their day off

Is the business about to go under without that phone call? Is it a question only they know the answer to? Does it need answering right this moment to avoid a nuclear war? No? Put the phone down and delete that email draft. Even if the news you're dying to share is not strictly business, and more along the lines of ‘I never even knew photocopiers could take the weight of two adults like that', they probably don’t want to hear it while they’re soaking up the sun and a few margaritas on a Spanish beach. Save it until the ‘Out of Office’ is off and they're back in work mode.