Thursday, July 09, 2009

Could someone please turn the heat back on?

I would just like to have it on the record that I am thoroughly pissed off with the behaviour of the Clerk of the Weather right now. By July, the temperature on the East Coast of America should be in the mid-late eighties. We should be spending our off hours lolling on the beach, or sitting propped up against trees with our laptops in the park.

Instead we are wearing wellies in Manhattan, at imminent risk of trench foot, as the heavens open and buckets of water are dumped on us hourly. This is America, not sodding Glastonbury. It's supposed to be frigid in winter and sticky & hot in the summer. This mildewed dampness was not part of the contract I signed when I moved over here. Today it is 69F. This is not an American summer as I know it.

To add insult to injury I spent the first fortnight of June in the English countryside. Every morning I looked out of my bedroom window to bright blue, cloudless skies and a heat haze over the horizon. Look: I have proof. This is the view from my room:

The heat was so pervasive that even the dogs collapsed. Exhibit one - Posetta Baddog:

miniature wire haired dachshundAnd exhibit two - Maudiepops:

Jack RussellIt rained every day for the first eleven days after I returned to Manhattan. This is just not acceptable.

The only plus point is that I can sleep at night with the sash windows flung up, and a duvet over me rather than wriggling around in a knot of sheets sweatily attempting to keep cool.