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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

The Summer. In London. Means Business, y’all. Not like the Summer at home, where it comes out when the Leaving Cert starts, hangs about for a couple of days and then forgets what it’s doing and wanders off, leaving a kind of no-mans-land in weather terms – it’s not hot, it’s not cold, and everyone asks everyone else if they think they need to bring a jacket out with them. Summer in London Means Business, and that Business is to burn the skin right off all of the white folk unwise enough to go a-wandering uncovered.

I had the disgusting pleasure of seeing the most sun burnt woman in the entire world on Saturday in a hotel swimming pool in Heathrow. Said woman had obviously taken her opportunity to a-wandering around London’s sights and sounds on that, the warmest day in history, with a lovely round necked top. And now said round necked top will be with her always in spirit, as its shadow is now indelibly seared in to her flesh thanks to the Business Meaning Summer of 2005. Every time she rose up from the water after a lap of the pool me and Mum flinched. I don’t think she realised quite how burnt up she was, but I’m sure the following morning her skin had some serious words with her before, presumably, peeling off her in one long sheet.

I was wise enough to stay out of said heat for the most part of Saturday and Sunday, although thanks to the unpleasant business with An Post, I did have to drag 2 stone worth of books across London, on the Circle and Central tube lines as well as on an overground train and finally across a ten minute hike to my house on the Hottest Day Ever yesterday. I then had the nicest shower I’ve had in my house thus far, standing entirely under the Red Tap, which dispensed completely ice cold water and made me the happiest freezing cold person in town.


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