Hot. Just, plain, hot.

The heat is unbearable. We went out for dinner last night, sat outside, came home at 9pm and were still, then, boiling-to-the-point-of-sense-of-humour-loss. I know that this is Africa, and it’s supposed to be hot, but sheesh kebab, it’s sizzling. Like in oppressive, thick heat. It almost feels like somebody has wrapped me in a thick, feather duvet and then tightly circled duct tape around and around, pinning me inside.

In the early hours of this morning, great bolts of lightening zig-zagged on the other side of my pale curtains, the skies rumbled like a very hungry, very big tummy, and we had a short, heavy downpour. It was delicious, and the smell of the wet dust through the window made me want to go out and roll around in it. The thought of the cooling down effect made me gleeful.

It did not, however, cool anything and I’m sitting here at Real Work, listless, and listening to our poor air conditioner, duct-taped into its own feather duvet, struggling to cool the soupy air around it. My brain is slow-cooking in my skull.

Please, Weatherman, could you tone it down, just a little?