It’s been too hot today for quite a number of days, if I’m honest, and will be too hot for the next few todays.
I think this is the straw which breaks the camel’s back of a long-term belief I’ve held about summer being way better than winter.
For years, I’d been staunchly pro-summer. Winter was too cold, too miserable, too full of seasonal depression and while I adore the sport which comes with winter, it didn’t make up for the fact I couldn’t feel my fingers.
When I moved to Orange (where it snows in winter), I felt vindicated through clattering teeth and risk of frostbite that nothing could be worse than walking to work in -3ºC and playing football as it sleeted and snowed.
As I sit on my couch and it moulds to be like putty, with sweat streaming down my face like Ted Striker in Flying High (or Airplane, if you prefer the American name), and my skin beginning to melt like I’m in The Scream, maybe I think I was a little bit, maybe, possibly ... wrong?
It’s too much. My room is too hot. I can’t sleep in the heat. I can’t go outside without my shoes melting.
I miss going to bed under 15 layers of blankets and doonas, I miss having a hot choccy or warm cup of tea, or being able to wear more clothing than shorts and a T-shirt.
I miss being able to think about walking to the fridge without becoming drenched in sweat.
So, to anyone I’ve ever called an idiot for saying they prefer winter over summer — consider this an apology.
I was wrong. Summer stinks. It’s too hot.
Now stay tuned for six months’ time when I complain how winter being the worst season and how much I miss summer.
26°C