The temperature here plummeted last night to a toasty five degrees. And it’s not even July. This morning, with the wind chill factor, it was about -20 degrees, even though the LED clock on the high building said it was 7 degrees. Heat rises, that’s all I can say.
Like every second person, I’ve been fighting a winter cold in autumn. Blocked up, congested, sounding hoarse and basso profoundo at the same time, while trying to hide my cough from the pestering eyes of pedestrians afraid that I might infect them with swine flu. Feel the love, people. Feel the love.
It doesn’t bear thinking about that we are not actually in winter, yet. Winter doesn’t start for over another week yet and the worst of winter is still a month away. We will be pushing the penguins past to make way for us on the pavement at this rate. It’s global warming but without the warming.
And all the while we’re sneezing and coughing and saying to one another ‘I don’t have swine flu’ as if denial is a cure, when really we’re afraid that we’ll be quarantined somewhere for say three months or so – and that somewhere is say, warm and dry. Hawai’i perhaps? Rarotonga? Fiji? They’ll be sun and it will be hot. They’ll be little glasses with small umbrellas. They’ll be beach towels. And winter will pass us by.
I don’t have swine flu. I don’t have swine flu. I don’t have swine flu…
