Last night I felt a little annoyed towards the kind bus driver who always smiles at me after a big day and who always waits to let me on as I’m running, bags in hand, towards my stop.
I know my grievances weren’t his fault, and my ill will towards him wasn’t justified, but I couldn’t help it.
You see, I have an issue with the temperature of all the buses I’ve been riding recently. They’re freezing. Ice-cream section of the supermarket kind of freezing. Jack and Rose clinging onto the life raft in Titanic kind of cold.
I’m not talking about a chilly waft of air-con meeting me as I step on, lately I’ve been greeted by an arctic gale.
I spend the journey home with my flimsy autumn-appropriate jacket (that was doing just fine to regulate my temperature while in the office and outdoors) hugged around me as though my life depends on it.
Watch: Paula Joye’s suggestions for how to winter-fy your wardrobe. (Post continues after video.)
I attempt to pretend I can still feel my hands as my frozen fingers try in vain to turn the pages of my book. I tell myself that placing my heavy handbag on my legs to prevent frostbite setting in is not an inconvenience.
I know, I know, huge first world problem. I get that. But would it kill our transport overlords to recognise that the weather is getting a little cooler? Winter’s almost here and yet our transport system is still catering for 40 degree days. A subsequent change in the air-con strategy might be a good idea?