Ice ice, baby.

I write this from beneath three gloriously cosy layers of downy duvet, plush blanket and gaudy quilt. My tootsies are ensconced in some gloriously wooly bed socks and I don’t plan to emerge from my toasty cave unless it is to make a mug of milky Earl Grey. The March chill has finally started to make itself comfortable.

The colder seasons are my favourite. I love black-tighted liquorice legs and short skirts with long jackets. I love the warmth of bad takeaway coffee in a paper cup between my palms and the smell of cigarette smoke carried on chill winds. I love the way the city is reduced to a bleak grayscale, the way everything is frozen and sharp at its edges.

 Chanel

 Autumn’s offerings from Chanel, like Karl Lagerfeld’s idea of shipping in a (very real and presumably very, very cold) iceberg from Scandinavia, were an intriguing mix of icy and kooky. The tense frigidity of Wintery bite could be felt in thick layers of Arctic white adorned with strings of glassy accessories. There was something of the slightly unhinged ice maiden , too- the models bundled in swathes of luxurious fabrics, dressed to the nines despite sub-zero temperatures.

Above all else, this drop in temperature has occurred in perfect harmony with the release of Foals’ new single Spanish Sahara. The video clip, with its crystalline seas of fragmented ice floes and endless shades of gray, is a beautiful window to outside’s Winter when tucked up snug in bed.