In the late 80’s I lived in Israel…at the lowest point on Earth. Every year when the UK gets above average temperatures and everybody is sweating their arses off, I am in my element. I never consider our weather, despite last year (during the first lockdown) when it hit the 90’s for like a week in a row, to be like the sunshine we get ‘abroad’. ‘Abroad’, I happily lie on a beach or I walk around in small sun dresses and shorts. I don’t do that here. ‘Here' gets a bit warm but it’s not ‘holiday’ weather and therefore, I am not getting my legs out for you or anybody else. So, when somebody asks if I’m hot (not that kind of hot. I haven’t been that kind of hot for at least 25 years!) my standard response is ‘I haven’t been warm since 1989’…until now… How is it possible that I can lie on a beach in Kefalonia and be comfortable (bloody hot but comfy) but the ‘burn up from the inside’ menopause heat is unbearable?? All I could think of at the time was ‘what the hell am I going to wear through winter'? I did put away my summer clothes (please note I only have two seasons, winter and summer! It’s hot or it’s cold and nothing else exists as I gave up trying to dress for Spring and Autumn years ago as I never got it right, but left the t-shirts out. Just in case. I unpacked and washed the winter woolies like I do each year but I knew if I had t-shirts to wear underneath, should I need to disrobe at a moments notice I wasn’t going to make Mr Jenkins at number 4 pass out by getting my kit off in the street. But you know what they say about best laid plans? This morning was a proper miserable day. Cold, foggy and damp (I think the weather people used to call it dank?) and so, I dressed accordingly. Boots, jeans, a vest (I wear a vest all year round and yes, I still tuck it in my knickers!) a jumper and my coat. No gloves but I do have my winter staple wooly hat. And off we went. All was good. It was bloody freezing and I kept saying to the Dollster (my pet Border) ‘it’s a cold one eh chicken?’ And ‘home soon for a nice cup of tea’ The day she answers back is the day I publicly poop myself. Anyway, we were having a walk around the neighbourhood when it started. And you know what ‘it’ was! I started to feel a ‘tad’ warm and just thought I’d slow the pace a little (I have an annoyingly long stride considering my 5ft 6” status so do tend to look like I’m power walking away from an axe murderer) so I slid the hat off and shoved it in my pocket. Next up was to unzip my coat…yeah, that’ll work I thought. It didn’t even touch the sides! Okay, I’ll take the coat off, which I did. So loony dog in one hand and coat over my other arm, I calmed slightly. Until the bleeding dog decided she needed a ‘two bob bit’. Because, like everybody else, I only have two hands, I had to put the coat back on in order the pick up the dog poo as I can’t let go of the lead and tell her to stay because she’s a bastard and would run off just to see me freak out. Oh my god, I’m getting hot again just thinking about this morning. Okay, the coat back on, I collected the poo up and started to walk towards the nearest (ONLY!!!) dog poo bin. I was maybe, 40 steps away when the worst flush of my menopause so far hit me like a breeze block. I thought I was going to pass out! In my panic and desperation to get the bloody coat off again I actually started to drag my arm up through the sleeve WITHOUT LETTING GO OF THE POO BAG! I just can’t. I want to be cold again. I’m moving to Iceland or the Artic and I don’t frigging care that it’s full of snow (which I hate)….I just want to wear my winter woolies and feel normal again. Anyone care to join me? We leave for good tomorrow! 💜dB