From the “store till winter” section of my wardrobe – in truth, a carrier bag under the eaves – have been extracted over the past week or so one thick cashmere scarf, a pair of fur-lined leather gloves and a peaked cap in heavy wool tweed.

Am I off to a cold climate? In a manner of speaking. What I am doing is preparing for indulgence in that strangest of Oxford’s summer activities, Shakespeare productions in college gardens.

Nights in the great outdoors (why so great, incidentally?) are rarely, if ever, sufficiently warm to be endured without mountains of clobber, for those of mature years at any rate. The problem is partly caused by sitting still for a couple of hours and more.

Youngsters never cease to amaze me with their capacity for enduring the cold. Striding home from town after winter nights at the theatre, I pass kids off to the clubs dressed as if for the beach. I get frostbite just looking at them.

So at garden Shakespeare it is nothing to them to sit only in shorts and shirtsleeves. From my own long experience, though, I know it’s wise to wear all you think necessary – and then double it.

On Tuesday of last week, for Oxford Theatre Guild’s King Lear in Merton College, I supplemented usual summer evening wear with a long-sleeved jumper and a big tweed coat.

This was not really enough to protect me, even with a hired blanket wrapped around my knees. The wind whips mighty cold across Christ Church Meadow.

At Wadham the next night for the Oxford Shakespeare Company’s delightful production of Twelfth Night (yet to be reviewed, but don’t miss it), I added the scarf, hat and gloves already alluded to.

This time I was comfortable, if not exactly warm.

I kept most of the kit on for the journey home. I got pretty strange looks on the bus, but wasn’t bothered about that.