Icicles

A gale blows around my head. My teeth chatter. My arms are all goosebumps and bristling hairs. My bare toes are purpley-blue. My fingers are stiff with cold and can only thump numbly at the keyboard.

I'm not actually typing epic tales from a mountain top in Siberia, but simply trying to send a few emails from the British Council, and my efforts are being severely hampered by the sub-zero temperature.

Can somebody please turn up the A/C? There's ICICLES hanging from it for gods sake.....