Poncho Cold

Right now, in my room, it is "poncho cold". "Poncho cold" is an utterly different kind of cold to "extra jumper" cold. "Poncho cold" smacks of the Andes, where the air is thin and clear, and the cold is a crisp thing that numbs your face and hands, but leaves your sock-encased feet alone. My feet are fine. My fingers are numb. My nose is freezing. And so I have dragged my Joan of Arc poncho out from under the desk, and I am now sitting here, warmer, happier, feeling ever-so-slightly medieval and warriorlike, and wishing I had bought that sword the other week.