Ok now this is just becoming silly.
One day of 42 degreeness is fine, two at a pinch, three and I’m not running down any decked halls singing fa-la-la-la, but four consecutive days of mind-numbing heat? Four days over 42 degrees isn’t Melbourne it's Marrakesh, and I don’t want to live in Marrakesh (no offence to all those Marrakeshites out there) because my body can't do four 42's in a row. I don’t have the right kind of clothes, the right temperament, I don’t do thongs, and my apartment doesn’t have any insulation (unless you count paint) let alone an air conditioner. The closest I've come to a cool breeze in the past few days is when opening the fridge, and I’m finding myself lingering by the shelves longer than usual just to pause the stream of sweat.
The only way I got through last night was with the aid of three cold showers (and when I say cold I mean frigid) and having a frozen tea towel draped across my head (and when I mean tea towel I mean tea towel).
Perhaps I can do what the cricketers do and fall asleep in an ice bath.
Now if only I could find an ice dispenser and Brett Lee’s phone number!
Ms melting-away M.
