It's always cold here

"It's always cold here".
I find myself saying this a lot. "Oh well, it's Canada. It's always cold here". Another rendition of the same thing. On a golf course that's newly opened for the season. Snow still lingering in tiny pockets here and there. And the starter guy with his clip board - "No problem. I have a foursome up ahead, and another booked in 10 minutes. You can go right now. You'll be doing 18 holes?". He's dressed in an enormous yellow jacket with a matching toque, and huge wooley mitts. No one seems to think it's the least bit strange. Windy. Cold. The odd snowflake coming down. Everyone bundled up in as many layers as can be arranged on a human body. With our golf bags carried on shoulders or strapped into pull carts, or safely moored on the back of a cold cold power cart. We grab a golf club and practice our swings, and try to look warm and busy rummaging in the bag for tees, and balls, and extra gloves.
The starter tells us we can go anytime, and laughs - "Have a good round and try to stay warm".
"Oh well, it's Canada. It's always cold here".