The cold bites. It's not nippy.
It doesn't nip.
It bites - with fangs.
Usually at this time of year I'd make some unsubstantiated prediction about the winter.
'It'll be a cold one' or 'I reckon there'll be a lot of snow this year' or some such rubbish.
It's very old-man-ish. There's no logic behind the predictions. I just spout them out because it seems like something to say when a new season's upon you.
This year I have no idea. It's cold now - I know that. Fashion is an issue of layers at the moment, and I have several. My army of jumpers is being put to good use after a summer of hibernation.
Today is a fuzzy day - several beers and a rare couple of herbal refreshments last night have left me feeling a tad... behind...