It's easy to work out if you are:
Lizards like the sun. They are always cold and loathe winter. They complain all winter how cold it is. They turn up the heating until the planet fries. The first hot day and they strip down to their underwear and lie on the (drying and dying) grass on their nearest square. They will lie there all day. Cities are ideal for lizards because not only does it get to 35C virtually every day in, say, London, but the humidity is around 98% AND it never ever rains (only those with a conscience have realised that it doesn't actually rain in London anymore and that it's in the grips of the worst drought, like, ever). Add to the heat and the humidity the extremely high pollution and you've got one happy lizard: basking in the heat and filth. Lovely. Lizards are happy to sit on boiling hot sidewalks on metal chairs drinking sweet sticky coffee substances and then, later, alcoholic substances (of which I know nothing except that it smells bad when it's thrown up along with their dinner on the same sidewalk). Lizards have a great life - they never suffer in the heat. They spend all their time wishing it wouldn't rain and then it doesn't anyway so they get their wish. They don't even suffer in winter all that much given the phenomenal temperatures of every building you walk into - 35C again, just right for lizards.
But what about people who aren't lizards? Who hate summer? Who start feeling depressed when the temperature ventures above 20C? Who flake when it hits 25C? Who are on their deathbeds at 30C and reach a state of entirely insane catatonia at 35C (i.e. the whole of the seven month London summer)?? These people are lava-bloods. People with lava in their blood love winter. They are full of energy on a winter's day and love walking in the cold, all wrapped up. They love the freshness of the windblown air in winter. They love the freshness of the rain in spring and its softness in autumn. They know how to dress for winter and never complain about it. They have the right sort of shoes for rain and their umbrellas actually work. They remember a time when the streets of London used to be cleaned at least once a week by a downpour of some kind, when the shit and puke and other things you'd rather not know about used to be scrubbed away by real water that fell free from the sky. It's a fond memory. All lava-bloods have it. They droop in front of fans that do nothing but shift hot air about from one end of the room to another and wish desperately to be cool. Their fingers swell like sausages and their flesh burns. The sun on their skin feels like torture. The humidity is one long suffocating afternoon inside a woolly blanket. Lava-bloods have to drink gallons of water until they feel sick. They spend a lot of time in the fridges of supermarkets, the only place they feel normal. They don't sleep for seven months either, as summer just goes on and on and on and on and on, the fucking lizards revelling every night with drunken parties in every room that is the London dystopia.
If the heat doesn't bother you and the cold doesn't bother you and you just muddle along not thinking about the weather at all, then you're just Lucky.