You may have noticed it has been a bit nippy of late. Large swathes of the UK have been hit by snow and ice, with temperatures hovering around the zero mark.
So what do you do in such conditions? Well, you either stay in and keep warm by the fire, or if you have to head out, you make sure you're wrapped up nice and warm.
Or, if you live in Newcastle, you don't pay a blind bit of notice to weather and carry on as you were - heading out on the toon in a maximum of three items of clothing.
Last night, the shitty month that is January drew to a close in Newcastle with a snowy dump, yet photographs from the city centre show people traipsing between pubs, bars and clubs with an inexplicable amount of flesh on display.
So what exactly happened here? Was it an impossibly mild evening when the Geordies booked their taxis? Did temperatures then plummet by the time they got out of their cabs at the Bigg Market?
But no, the truth is in fact less logical. The reality is that these brave souls knew it was fucking freezing before they stepped out the door, but this had zero bearing on how they chose to dress.
In Newcastle, you don't let the weather dictate how you dress, you dress how you want. Who wants a bloody great big parka on when you're necking trebles in a packed, sticky bar?
I'm not sure if the concept of a cloakroom even exists in Newcastle. It would be kind of pointless to have them really, as no self respecting Geordie would use one; they would bring shame on their family name.
If you are fortunate enough to head up there for a night out, make sure not to pack many clothes, other than your beer coat... And prepare to have shrivelled up nuts.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do, when in Newcastle, do as the Geordies do.
But don't die of hypothermia.