Sophie doesn’t do well in the heat and is feeling sorry for herself and a bit grumpy. So is the cat. It brings back memories.
Writing this week has been taking place between the hours of 5.30 and 8.00am. After that it is just too damn hot in London. During working hours I find I am either suffering or snoozing involuntarily. The head has actually hit the desk at least once a day.
If I sit down for a refreshing glass of cool, cool water, straight from the fridge, I’m quite likely to fall asleep before I start.
Which, of course, means that I’ve not been sleeping properly during the dark and steamy nights. And oh boy, have they been steamy. My room runs the width of my house so I can have two windows open, allowing a refreshing breeze to flow through. At least theoretically.
No breeze has obliged, so far.
Result: I get up sleep-deprived and then try to apply myself to writing.
It comes out over-cooked and distinctly stodgy. This does not surprise me. It adds to the accumulated sum of unwellbeing. General grumpiness ensues.
So then I look at the Met Office weather forecast and see that tomorrow will be cooler. Lovely. Except that was what they said yesterday. And it isn’t. At least, It doesn’t feel like it. My thermometer agrees with me.
So does my cat, Perdita. Continue reading