The calendar says June...the weather says November

I lived in Southern California for twenty years.

Which means, sartorially speaking, that I am not exactly equipped for London. I knew this, of course, before accepting the job offer. But I thought I had at least three, maybe four months before succumbing to the necessary heavy woolens and thick tights.

I was wrong.

Two days ago, blustery winds turned my umbrella inside out more times than I could count in the five minute walk between my flat and the tube station. I dug the one coat I had the foresight to bring with me out of the cupboard (closet rail space being at a premium in a London apartment) and zipped it up tight against the stinging cold rain. Underneath, my suit was wool - albeit summer weight wool. But at some point the fibers had resided on a sheep, so I assured my body it was dressed for the weather. Alas, vanity took over when it came to shoes. And while I looked mighty damn fine in my beige and black Via Spiga spectator slingbacks, worn without hose because, y'know, it IS June, my heels are still vaguely numb to the touch.

I'm told that we are having this weather because Wimbledon is now on, and that once Wimbledon finishes the sun will come out again. And actually, it's pretty much out today, and the players at Wimbledon are wearing white shorts and t-shirts and I actually spotted some spectators in tank tops.

But there's a black cloud on top of my building (one of the advantages of having an office window that looks into an atrium with a skylight) and after work I'm investing in a titanium brolly that is guaranteed not to turn inside out, even when it really is November.