Well, that was fun while it lasted. For a moment – a brief moment – we were inclined wantonly to cast away our socks and bare an ankle. Or even a knee. Out came the arms, the shoulders and, in some cases, the midriffs, as the mercury in some parts of the country soared to 20 degrees last week. Some white people even got sunburnt. What scenes! But that was then. This is now. And this, make no mistake, is winter. 

As Scotland and the north-east of England woke up this morning to a blanket of snow, even those of us in less dramatic circumstances were forced to confront that very peculiar British conundrum best described as What The Heck Do I Wear Now, Weather, You Psychopath? 

That the British weather is capricious should come as no surprise, yet for a nation still coming to terms with being back in the office, nailing the kind of outfit that will take you from snug, centrally heated home to draughty public transport to over/under heated work premises is proving harder than it ought to be. Nor is it any easier on weekends, when cheering on the chilly sidelines at sports matches can morph into overheated lunch dates with friends.