With winter just around the corner, blogger and personal trainer Melissa Power explains why she's not a fan.
I love London. I really do. I was born and bred here and it’s my favourite city in the world. I love cycling around it, I love getting on the tube (even when I have to change at Bank), I love its people, its secrets, and once in a while I even try to love south London. However, I hate it when winter comes to London. Here’s why.
As soon as November arrives, we all have to pretend that we love ice skating so much. If we really loved ice skating we would go all year round at normal ice-skating rink, at a reasonable price. In winter, ice skating costs around a million pounds a ticket. And we can’t actually ice skate because it’s full of too many other people who have also recently taken out a loan to buy their ticket. We’re not even allowed a warming whisky on the rink.
Secret dog poo
All those pictures on Instagram of fallen leaves on Hampstead Heath may look pretty (well not after you’ve seen 1,500 of them, all with the same filter), but they're hiding mountains of dog poo. At least in summer you can see the dog poo. Admittedly you can smell it too, but you can’t argue with fair warning. In winter, we may think we're taking a romantic walk in our lovely new winter knits but actually we're stomping through many different kinds of shit. Dreamy.
Mulled wine from winter markets
I enjoy a drink as much as the next person but let’s be truthful and realistic about mulled wine from winter markets. Winter markets are cold. They have their own constant sub-zero climate (similar only to the immediate temperature felt on exiting the tube at Bounds Green). There is rarely anywhere to sit down. And then you have to queue for 15 minutes for a tiny, expensive mug of scalding mulled wine – which then immediately gets cold due to the sub-zero temperatures, leaving you with the choice of either drinking boiling hot liquid or cold sweet wine (effectively sangria with a bit of cinnamon).
Uber's surge pricing
It’s cold. Cycling in winter is the pits. And the tube is impossible. Disrobing 18 items every time you get on the Northern line is quite frankly tiresome – and I’ve already touched on the dog-poo dangers of walking in winter. All this means is that Uber can surge away all day and all night, leaving us even less money to go towards that ice-skating ticket fund.
Winter rain will attack everything. As most of us don’t want to dress like a middle-aged rambler from Norfolk from November to March, we’re steadfastly and stubbornly wearing our trusty Converse and non-waterproof trousers (also known as jeans). This heralds the arrival of Winter Wet Foot and Winter Wet Leg, which unfortunately can’t be banished just by standing next to a semi-warm radiator for five minutes holding a cup of tea. This week I have burned four holes in my trousers due to over-enthusiastic hair drying and microwaving of cotton.
No one goes anywhere
All the above means that no one goes out anymore, and quite honestly, it’s understandable that we choose to curl up in lovely dry clothes, drink home-made mulled wine (at an acceptable temperature and only £4 a bottle) and watch people out the window step in dog poo on their way to spend all their money sliding around on ice.