Cor blimey it’s hot. It really is. It’s a piece-a-hot hot hot. The intense heat makes a number of simple activities extremely difficult. Sleeping is a near impossible affair. The night is spent tossing, turning and sweating, having vivid nightmares about exams and only managing thirty minutes of shut eye.
Walking - the infamous nutters of Olde Whitechapel Town stream out or their crack dens onto the sick covered streets to enjoy the warm weather, clogging up the pavements and trying to get in my way. Other pedestrians, especially the City types, stroll at angles rather than walking in a straight line. I have difficulty breathing in the carbon dioxide cloud that descends over London. I arrive at the office drenched in sweat, angry and exhausted.
I’ll tell you what is a really bad idea when the temperature rises to the mid 30s - is dress up as a lady. Slap on loads of make-up and watch it melt. Put on a wig and rapidly overheat - it’s like wearing a big woolly hat. Like the Wicked Witch of the West you will melt. It’s best just to go naked baby.
I’m melting, I’m melting.
2 Comments
At least you don’t have to constantly wear a fur coat like Audrey does.
You make Audrey wear a fur coat? Surely there is a law against that. Dogs don’t sweat you know.