The City Bowl feels like a suburb of Hell.
As though our feigned ignorance and blind eyes turned have angered God, and all the whores and politicians have pulled us with them into the hungry Abyss.
On the other hand, it takes about half the time to bake a cake.
The sun and I have never really been good mates. I blame the Irish blood for my fair complexion – I go the colour of cheap Wimpy ketchup in twenty minutes and by nightfall I’m peeling like Goldmember.
On Wednesday the temperature supposedly hit around 40 Celsius, but it always feels much worse, doesn’t it?
At least that’s what the hamsters think – they’re monged out in their cages licking and then sleeping against the ice blocks we put in for them; too soporific to run on their wheels, let alone ride little bicycles through flaming hoops like they usually do when they want to be fed. I think this heat might actually kill Julius!
All the Pomms and Saffers in Queen’s Country, after regarding our half-melted Facebook updates, say something along the lines of, “Don’t complain about it; it’s minus five here!”
Maybe we should trade?
It’s fine if you’re on holiday and can lounge by the pool all day, occasionally flopping into the water when your tongue turns to biltong, but it’s not all shits and giggles if you’re stuck in an office.
Deodorant is useless – even anti-perspirant. You leave the house for two minutes and you’re dripping like an Emo’s eyeball and smelling like a monitor lizard.
There’s so much rage on the road that grannies are giving you the finger as they cut you off to get to the icecream bicycle man.
Even your hair and fingernails are sweating.
You’d think respite would come when the sun went to sleep, but it almost seems to get worse!
Cuddling is out of the question – body heat, hello? And when you wake up soaked in warm liquid… well, it reminds me of the last time I drank ouzo.
Plus, this heat always gives me terrifying nightmares – snakes devouring teddy bears, Buddha falling into a thornbush, or Gary the Tooth Fairy’s Variety Show!
I’m one night away from sleeping in the garden with the sprinkler on.
But as soon as the oceans have evaporated we can be sure torrential rains will follow. And at the rate 2010 passed by you know the Winter will be here sooner than you can toast a marshmallow on your steering wheel.
And then, in true Capetonian style, we’ll all be complaining about the cold.
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