That’s what I thought, arriving in Kyiv.

It was December and minus fifteen.

‘This is nothing,’ said the driver. It felt

Like something. Hat, gloves and scarf were no use.

The hotel was marvellously porous,

Rooms glacial, the restaurant shivered

Behind flapping Perspex windows. The wind

Reached all protected parts. The next morning,

To the lecture. Everyone double-wrapped,

But I gave my speech in shirtsleeves and tie

And blew on my hands to stave off frostbite.

Smart ones kept vodka in their office drawer.

Of course, this is but flippant anecdote;

Real winter will grab many by the throat.