Thirty Thousand Streets

Wednesday, November 02, 2005


I awoke this morning at around six o'clock feeling dessicated and parched. The room felt like an oven, and stumbling over to the radiator I discovered you could cook an egg on it. The entire experience was akin to being trapped inside a giant, hot, pop tart (probably strawberry flavour knowing my luck) although unmitigated by napalm like jam.

With the passing of Summer one of my roomies has taken it upon themselves to crank up the heating to degree that it feels like an oven – simply because it's not sweltering outside. Maybe it's the northener in me. but I was actually quite enjoying it being a little cooler, and it's clearly, clearly, not even that cold.

I find this kind of siege mentality slightly odd. The person who did this was the same who burbled about being unable to sleep because it was too hot in Summer, but the minute the weather turns slightly, ups the ante like there was a glacier bearing down on London, and polar bears capering across the green.

Hmm. This is a bit of a non post really, especially as I turned the heating down right after so the problem is resolved.

NEXT EPISODE: Has anyone seen my milk? etc...

1 comment:

gridrunner said...

I've not had a Pop Tart for years.