With each British winter comes the inevitable struggle with erratic temperatures. Every short day, I ask myself: Which is the lesser of two evils – the stickiness of public transport or the blue-lipped cold of outside? Or is the true evil the central heating wars you're forced to sit through in the office? Either way, with my body temperature in constant flux, getting dressed in the morning often feels like a conundrum. My beloved faux fur coat can go from cosy to cloying in a matter of minutes, and I always underestimate how chilly my ankles will be.