I am always too hot. Almost always. My idea of a hellish holiday involves a country south of (or really anywhere near) the Tropic of Cancer, with sunshine and beaches.
Orkney is a temperate climate, with the winter temps rarely below 0°. But there are still bone-chilling winds – they just cut right through you, and the moisture in the air means once the cold has entered your bones, it takes forever for you to warm up. So naturally, I dress accordingly. I layer up when going out, and the outer layer is always my waterproof, lined, hooded, jacket. And gloves, and a jaunty scarf. Then we head outside. Only to be passed by school kids in shirt sleeves and shorts.
That wouldn’t be so bad, as that occasionally happens in Milton too, where a teenage boy will be walking to Bishop Reding HS in a hoodie & gym shorts in the middle of a snowstorm. But that’s a lone teenage boy, and you know his parents weren’t home when he left the house. But these kids in Orkney are accompanied by their parents, who are equally lightly dressed. WTF? It’s 2° out, with wind gusts of up to 40 kmh. So there I am, looking like Nanook of the North, and there they are, heading off for a nice family outing.
I swear they do it on purpose.