It was four degrees when we arrived in Aberdeen. Four.
That’s ok, we were expecting the cold so we were dressed appropriately when Kristin picked us up from the airport. And even better, Gary had built a roaring fire to welcome us after the long drive to their country home.
A burning, crackling, coal driven, flames hurtling up the chimney roaring fire.
I took my coat off at the front door and we snuggled into the living room with several drams of whisky, welcome to Scotland champagne, a determination not to peak too soon and the roaring fire.
After a while I had to take my shoes off. Gary put more coal onto the fire. We drank some more whisky and champagne, a bottle of red was opened.
It got warmer. I took my socks off. Gary put even more coal onto the fire. We switched to white wine, the whisky kept coming.
It got even warmer. Burning up a wee bit, I took my scarf off. Then I took my jumper off.
Gary put more coal onto the fire and brought out more whisky. I took my shirt off. Then I shoved the sleeves of my long t-shirt up my arms.
It was one degree outside, yet sitting in that tiny living room was like being in a bikram yoga class with endless alcohol.
In danger of stripping down to my underwear, Kristin eventually moved us into the dining room where it was icy cold and much more comfortable.
It wasn’t that we couldn’t feel the cold. Because there’s no way we peaked too soon.