With the changing of the clocks and the approach of winter proper comes enhanced cravings for sweetness; it is my body’s instinctual lurch towards any available energy boost to combat the sluggish slump into darker, colder, more rapidly descending evenings. The seal on sweet drinks broken by autumn’s annual amnesiac capitulation to the syrupy fun of a pumpkin spice latte - a Proustian highway to nowhere but consumer regret - it’s the only time of the year I want a spoonful of sugar in a cup of tea.

The hibernating bear slumbers free of nightmares about rent and bills. Who is to say, however, whether he envies humans our cash and claw free payment options and easy access, without clambering over the counter of Starbucks, to such concoctions as the limited edition Ghost Pumpkin Frappuccino.

Last week, taking a day of annual leave in the run up to Hallowe’en, just paid and susceptible to the suggestion I treat myself like a tween with pocket money to burn, I couldn’t resist the pastel goth coded beverage I kept seeing sandwich ads for. Curiosity soon sated, and the best part of a fiver parted with, I drank it on the subway to my day off hair appointment. It tasted like ice cold milk and candyfloss and I got about a third of it down before dumping it. I’d rather be under the covers, in general, but unfortunately there are human things to do over the winter months, such as earn to survive, and seek dopamine hits to make the cold season and commute bearable along the way.

At the salon, the stylist offered me a coffee, then looked at her watch. It was Friday lunchtime. ‘Maybe you fancy a wine instead?’ On my day off? I did. At the hairwashing sinks, the chat was about the cost of living crisis, and luxuries for less. Duplicate perfumes, available online for a tenth of the price of the brands they copy. Career shoplifters who take orders from pub regulars and turn up with the goods in time for Christmas. There for a few hours of foil highlights and cutting, my glass topped up twice more by a junior, by the time I barrelled back out into Glasgow city centre, freshly trimmed strands brushing my cheek and head lighter, I wasn’t feeling the cold so much.

If, probed by an exploratory toe poked from beneath the bed covers, the wintry chill is formidable, as it has been these recent fresh mornings, the only thing for it, unfortunately, is to jump up quickly. If this is hard for you too, give yourself a break. Not being the same temperature all year round - blessedly - cold morning habits must be relearned each year. Earlier this week, spooked by a particularly icy breeze, I found myself procrastinating getting up and getting ready by Googling ‘tips for getting up on a cold morning’ from beneath the duvet. Yes, I knew it was pathetic: an academic exercise in putting off the inevitable. The tips amounted, by and large, to just doing it: some suggest adhering to a ten second rule of getting up once the alarm goes off.

But I remember this sensation from when I spent January of 2021 living in rural, forested Finland, where temperatures got down to minus 14 degrees Celsius and snow hit above the knee. Prolonging the inevitable by hitting the snooze button and taking refuge in those warm, womb-like five minute increments only makes a cold morning colder. While I wish hiding under the covers worked, the only effective way to tackle a truly off-putting day is to accept it and get straight into it; and then at least the worst is behind you, rather than lying in wait to nip bare ankles with its icy little teeth. Jerk that body out of bed and march, screaming if you have to, into the morning light of a cold new day. Returning to the den at the end of day will be all the more comforting.

To reduce the bleakness of midwinter mornings, I spin the dial on the bathroom radio until it hits the fizziest pop and crank it up, an auditory faking it til I make it with the warmth and cheer of breakfast radio. ‘Padam,’ repeats Kylie Minogue encouragingly, ‘padam,’ as I shiver violently into the clothes I laid out the night before; anything to reduce the time between towelling dry out the shower and the sharp nip in the air settling on bare skin. I think of my Australian friend who decided to take a job back home rather than spend another wintry stretch in Britain. I think of another friend who deferred his summer holiday to get away for two full weeks of winter sun. I envy these plans and try to remember to take my vitamin D.

The summer things have been put away; sundresses, shorts and swimwear packed into suitcases and stored out of sight. It will be many months before they’re pulled out again in hope of use. Retrieved from their place and the squashed back of drawers are the layering clothes; long sleeves and thermal leggings to go under jumpers and cardigans. Later, when it properly freezes, will come the phase of max accessorising: donning anything available for a little extra warmth: tights under jeans, turtlenecks under v-neck dresses, scarves over sweaters worn indoors, and fingerless gloves - ideal for holding just brewed mugs of hot, sweet, gloom-defying tea.

In the bleak, cold mornings, I work hard to find those warming ways - Laura Waddell