Cold feet

So I'm sitting in the office today, looking out across the Malvern Hills, trying to crack a headline about a new morgue (seriously) and it suddenly dawns on me that my feet are freezing.
They're blocks of ice; they were at the stage where you're not quite sure if they're damp or slightly cold. Now, I'm usually quite cold while sitting at my desk. The window lets in a bit of a breeze. Indeed, with the strong winds hitting Cheltenham today, the office kitchen window was whistling like a kettle on a rayburn for a good few hours, but my feet are rarely cold.
So what did I blame for this weird happening? The bloomin' cabbage soup.
Of course, it's nothing to do with that. I know it's cold in my head as my rugby-hit knees are aching. But my heart is blaming the soup.
The soup is actually quite tasty. The WTB put a fair kick of cayenne pepper in, turning it from boring and bland to spicy and seriously tasty. I could eat it even if I wasn't on a diet. But, as the WTB so accurately put, it just needs chicken and a bread roll.

Today's condition has been eating fruit. I can eat as much as I like. Bliss. Apples, apples and more apples for me. I will never get bored with that beautiful fruit, wonderful tasting thing, creator of cider. Tomorrow though it's veg only. Balls.