So it started again—the Scottish rainy, windy, cold autumn—and since the walls of the building I live in have no insulation whatsoever, just like last year, I locked myself in the small bedroom, moving there also my desk, as it’s the only room in my flat that is actually possible to heat up to some sensible temperature. The larger bedroom that I normally use as an office, with the radiator turned on full, can barely hold twelve-ish degrees during the winter. So, for the next several months, my bedroom will be my nest—or a prison cell, depending on the perspective we look at this arrangement from.

On a positive note, I can say that it gives me a good insight into the living conditions of the very first inhabitants of this place. Like a history lesson in real life, where the daily ablutions are a particularly interesting experience. But, as they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. However, one could expect that, after a hundred and twenty years or so, something would change. Insulating the walls of buildings in the cold north seems so obvious. Perhaps having expectations is a mistake on my part.