Old Yeller beaming down on us like a nuclear hat.
|I hate you Ross Geller.|
I’m sure those of you who are currently stuck in a blizzard, watching the mobility being frozen from your fingers and using an ice pick to chip away at the frozen black tears on your face will think i’m just a big whinger.
WELL FUCK YOU THAT SOUNDS LIKE FUCKING BLISS.
LACK OF STARS
You see the thing is, you can always put on more clothes. If you’ve reached the limit of long-john’s and stylish yet thermal jackets, then you can always go into a warm house and light a fire and get warm that way. I think I just vomited in my nose. No more talk about more heat.
What you can’t do is take off more clothes. I am currently entirely naked, cowering in the ‘coolest’ place in this fucking woollen jumper that we call home. This is it. There’s nothing I can do to get cooler now. Unless.
|I regret nothing.|
I live in a country of lunatics. When people are inevitably talking about the excess heat roaring through our city like a herd of horses that are on fire, they always end with “great beach weather though!”.
No, no, no. Yes, the water itself is cold. Swimming does provide relief. But what about the journey there? And more importantly, ON THE WAY BACK. Any momentary respite you have garnered from the water, is taken away on the way home, and that is even crueller. Plus, heat doesn’t just mean uncomfortableness in the moment – it also means being burnt to a crisp which is pain that lasts for days. And here’s a tip – the sun will follow you into the water. The sun is more powerful than the ocean.
Old Yeller > Poseidon.
|CURSE YE OLD YELLER!|
I’m the whitest individual in the world, so there is a reason I hide away from Old Yellers fiery embrace. But here’s where things get a little stupid. From the way i’m bitching about the heat, you’d think i’m from Little Dankshire in England, where snow falls every time people fall in love. But actually, the list of places i’ve lived in my life could be a ‘who’s who’ of deserts. Everywhere I’ve ever resided in my life has had 40 degree heat as a matter of routine. When I lived in Qatar, I was given a bike. After riding it one morning, I left it on the concrete outside of my house, and its wheels melted.
I still get scared of seatbelts. That’s what Western Australia taught me.
You’d think I would be one of those tanned, surfing jerks who shrug off the heat and can splash around the reflective ocean with the sun only giving them tiny kisses. But because the heat has always been so extreme for me, we never spent any time out in it to develop any kind of resistance. When we did go swimming, it was always in so many layers of rash vests and sun cream and zinc, that no exaggeration, when I dived in the water, an oil slick would mark my passing.
My goal in life is to live somewhere where I can develop seasonal affective disorder ALL YEAR ROUND.