Yup, it’s the annual whinge about what heat does to most of us, this time livened up by a headline that includes two Beatles’ song titles. (Yes, I did have to scroll through their discography to find the deeply submerged second — a George Harrison number off “Yellow Submarine!”)
Presume anyone with MS who lives in a hot climate has to bathe in air-conditioned surroundings to survive. Ironically, that adds to the atmosphere’s heat, but let’s not get bogged (also disappearing) down in present-day physical geography!
Even living in London, I’ve had to accept that there will increasingly be days that knock me out.
So when the weatherperson joyously imparted that the next day was going to be hotter than the Caribbean (32 degrees Celsius, or 89.6 degrees Fahrenheit), I thought, as ever, that I’d get through it. Phew, no wonder! It was only now, when I converted it into old money (we went decimal in 1971 and lost shillings), that I realized how hot it truly was!
Actually, I survived that day. It was the next day when all the surrounding ground and house had soaked up all that radiation and dumped it into my wilting body. It was a tad unfair to be treating a vegan like a summer turkey on a slow roast!
I sat in a huddle with fans turned up to 11 to little effect. I should have taken the advice of the equally annual newspaper column that recommends freezing large bottles of water and sticking them in front of the fans. It’s bound to happen again this summer. Note to self: This time, be ready.
Make sure there are a couple of 2-liter lemonade bottles (just drink some first so that there is no bursting) and a bottle of Pimm’s handy. With the correct timing I could have a lovely summer cocktail! There may be no Wimbledon but we must struggle on regardless. After all, I am British!
Thinking about it, there must be a surfeit of cheap strawberries on the market. That is, if the British are willing to pick ’em!
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