My answer to a happy winter is The Golden Girls, an 80s sitcom about a bunch of pensioners

Some people are good with cold weather. Their cheeks pink prettily. They have a wardrobe of clothes that are somehow warm but also, as if by magic, flattering, and they are really, really good at skiing.

And some of us are not. We – my people – develop a pallor in the winter that veers between what Farrow & Ball would call Laura Palmer Grey and Jaundiced Victorian Child. From September to May we have a constant cold, and what our winter wardrobe lacks in aesthetic appeal, it makes up for in having Kleenex stuffed in every pocket. Why some of us choose – willingly, apparently – to live in northern Europe, where it is, to paraphrase Niles in Sleepless In Seattle, cold nine months of the year, is a question we have never answered satisfactorily to ourselves.

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