Alison Craig: I just can't warm to teens' need to be cool

How many layers of clothes on average have you worn over the past few weeks? Three? Four? Five?

Yup light layers, thick layers, coats, jackets, thermals, vests, T-shirts, jumpers, waistcoats, waterproofs, duffle coats, fake furs, bobble hats, fur hats, balaclavas, berets, trilbys - it really doesn't matter what it is or what it looks like. We just put it on and try to stay warm.

With temperatures plummeting to -14C who gave a monkey's about sartorial elegance. It was merely a question of keeping the circulation going.

Afraid to fall, I hung on to the railings and inched my way along the road refusing to lift my feet off the ground, with giant welly boots clenched on to my double-socked foot. The only parts of me exposed were my nose and eyeballs.

The daily battle to escape the house with spades, de-icer, and hot drinks was like a Shackleton documentary. It took me five days until I was finally prepared for all eventualities. Ready for action I edged out the door slowly and hung on to a railing as my son nipped past: "Bye Mum". "Bye," I shouted and raised a begloved hand to wave farewell, which was when I clocked him and my jaw dropped.

Off he strode in school trousers, shirt, blazer and school shoes.

"Stop!" I shouted. "Where are you going like that?"

"School," he said, nonchalantly sliding off along the ice pavement like Christopher Dean.

"Get inside this minute and put on something else."

"Why?"

"It's minus 14."

"Och it's not that bad," he said and headed off, ignoring me, the Michelin woman puffing incredulously in his wake.

He returned that afternoon none the worse for wear. Unlike my nerves.

After talking to pals it seems they are all at it. The phenomena of the teenager a mystery to all parents. Immune to cold, deaf to the parent's voice and so determined. It seems the girls wear bum-skimming skirts with bare legs. Bare legs - are they insane? The boys as little as possible. My son's only concession after persistent head-nipping from yours truly has been to put on his school jumper to leave the house. Of course I know the second he gets there he wheeches it off, and stuffs it into his bag. How can I be so sure? Well it is always at the bottom of his bag the following morning when I tell him the is not leaving the house without it. So out it comes compacted into a small ball, covered in rubber rubbings, crumbs and other rucksack debris.

A step too far proved to be when I bought these funny rubber thing that you slip on your shoes which grip the snow. Very pleased with the purchase I took them home and handed them over.

"Thanks Mum." "Oh you like them?" "Yeah. Great." "Good so you'll put them on your shoes then?" "No. They'd rip it out of me if I had these things on." "And what about splitting our head open is that preferable to putting these on your shoes then?" "Yes."

It seems he is not alone.

Last weekend we were on the A92 stuck in a blizzard for hours on the way back to Edinburgh from Aberdeen. Three of us sat huddled in the car, static for over an hour in hats, gloves, scarves with the heating up full. We were there so long people had begun reluctantly to get out of their cars - well the blokes - and go to the loo as the women huddled and prayed for the traffic to get moving.

Bored rigid, we sat and watched as the door of the car in front opened and out got a person wearing nothing but a short-sleeved white T-shirt and baggy jeans with the crotch skimming the snowline.

A teenager. The long-suffering husband and I shouted in unison as he did his chimpish meander, hands in his pockets to find somewhere to go to the loo. Even trying to be cool in a blizzard in the middle of the A92. Who was going to notice? Who cared?

Three minutes later he returned, entirely covered in snow but despite the incredible chill he did not alter his speed of walking or his casual saunter one iota.

You've got to love them. No, I mean it, you do. They are still our kids despite the sprouting upper lip hair and inability to enunciate even the most basic vocabulary.

And talking to other confused parents I hear they revert to human again at some point. I live in hope. Meanwhile I now regard Kevin the Teenager as a documentary, not a comedy.

On that basis I am hoping for the boxset for Christmas. I could do with a few tips.