I knew Trish was growing restless. Part of it was the winter. She doesn’t like the cold. She doesn’t like the constant chill that shivers her bones and she doesn’t like the formless thick layer of wool she needs to fight the chill off. Trish longed desperately for those bright sunny days when spring finally surrenders to summer. We had early February. I would have taken Trish on a cruise, if we could have afforded the time, but we couldn’t and so there was no point in dreaming of lazy bikini clad lounging on a tropical deck. Winter would have to be endured.
Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov