Today we are due for some thunderstorms to end the period of intense heat and humidity that Britain has been sweating under for the past week. Everything looks beautiful in this weather, but personally I can’t enjoy it because even the lightest physical movement, such as shifting a buttock, or raising a glass to my lips results in a waterfall of sweat down my spine. How lovely it looks in a light coloured t-shirt. So I wear black t-shirts. That works well until the end of the day when instead of sweat patches I’m left with an attractive salt diagram of my underlying gut.
So instead of going out and “enjoying the weather” I spent the weekend lying still at home.
In fact so strong was my reluctance to move further than the front room that I even ended up blowing out a party. Tony was over from France for a long weekend and I’d promised him a party on saturday night – but when it came down to it we ended up just sittiong around the flat, very still. Getting mashed in front of the telly.
Tony pointed out how different our attitudes had become over the last ten years with respect to parties. Ten years ago, he and a few mates were so desperate to go to a party that they drove from Bristol to Portsmouth – only to find the party consisted of a few early-teens, their parents and a few aunts and uncles sitting around the front room watching telly.
Compare that to this saturday where we knew of a party full of people we like and things we like to do, that’s in the same town…and we didn’t go….because it’s quite hot and it’s a long way to Streatham. How crap is that ?
So sorry for a crap weekend Tone.
