If you're one of these greedy heat grabbing little buggers, know this: us cold people don't want to hear about your sweatiness. When it's a beautiful summer's day, the sun's cracking the flags and we've dared expose a bit of shoulder - all is well with the world; until you show up and start harping on about humidity.
It's our time. So shut up.
Clearly my reptilian gene skipped Betty, as she seems to have followed the warm blooded path of her father. Little sod.You'd think after all I put my body through to get her here, she'd be on my side. But no. They both gang up on me to moan about heat stroke and dehydration and pull that selfish 'turn the heating off' face that really gets on my nerves. It's only June.
Recently my two favourite killjoys really brought in the big guns. The recent warm air would normally have suited me perfectly: muggy, close, oppressive. Lovely. But no more. The rise in temperature over the last few days has pushed relations between us to fever pitch. Dave is on auto-carp, moaning repetitively about clamminess and his undies riding up his bum; The Poop has set about making her thoughts about the warm temperatures known by -
- developing an itchy, unsightly heat rash on her neck and the back of her head
- sweating her way through three changes of clothes per day
- obtaining a fair example of chafing due to nappy/crawling friction
- becoming increasingly irritable as the day goes on
- not going to sleep for at least an hour at bedtime
All of which are completely and utterly selfish and totally below the belt. I more than pay my Celsius dues - I shiver violently and cling devotedly to radiators all winter long. And yet despite this, after what Boo has put me through over the last few weeks, I now hate the summer, in fact, more than I hate the winter - because I have to deal with all of the above, while it is set to a backdrop of Dave nit picking about about the "stillness of the air".
So that's the joy sapped out of that then.
OH. MY. GOD.
This is my life.
Rock n roll isn't it?