It’s getting fairly mild in here which means that the British summer has started to arrive. For anybody from these isles complaining about the poor weather we have had this year it is invariably met with the comment “ooh, it’s too hot”.
Important cultural fact about the British, we are basically Goldilocks with the exception we never find anything that is just right. During the long winter my house has been an ice box, requiring the central heating to be on full blast, but the first time that the sun comes out it has converted from a freezer into an oven.
It taunts us like a Frenchman does an English knigit, when I get home it feels nicely cool and refreshing. As soon as that door closes then it whacks itself straight up to gas mark 10 and proceeds to slow roast the household.
In the winter there was a clear temperature differential between the downstairs and the up, you could comfortably sit in the living room as it would be warm but as soon as you reached the third step from the top you would feel a chill. At first the only conclusion I could come to for this sudden decrease in temperature was that I had a ghost step and this was the place that some 19th century jilted bride had thrown herself down the stairs. This is of course ridiculous as the house was only built in the 1950’s.
No matter what I did it was impossible to make the house one homogeneous heat. It doesn’t help that the thermostats for all the radiators operate on a system that is either Pluto or Surface of the sun.
Now we are in summer this shouldn’t be too much of an issue, you would think that it being cooler upstairs would be a boon. You would also think that politicians would be more aware of what the public think of them and think that it should be easy to stop eating chocolate.
It seems that Lady Elizabeth Farlingley (our non existent ghost) has completed her season long fall and is now lying at the bottom of the stairs because the hallway is the coolest part of the house. Physics also has recollected how it works and after a few forgetful months heat has finally remembered to rise. In fact all the heat that was hitherto hiding away during winter has clubbed together, hired a plane and taken flight up the stairs. It is now on holiday in the bedroom drinking beer and having a right good time.
The attempt to open doors and windows last night was met by an influx of pollen and the remainder of one of the ten plagues of Egypt. I spent too much time trying to catch moths and crush daddy long legs than trying to keep cool. Even the hundreds of spiders that seem to have taken residence were ineffectual I capturing any of these light seeking bugs.
It doesn’t help that the office I work is stupidly hot for a desk based environment, I am assuming it’s either because they don’t give two hoots about their staff or are incompetent with the maintenance of the building. A request for casual clothes was agreed but for men this means either trousers or jeans. So either stay hot or get hotter. It’s gross idiocy, the kind that deserves being trebucheted to France.
Even the old flat tormented me with a heat gradient that was like walking in and out of a plane that has just landed in a hot destination. I seemed to be cursed to live in a world where the porridge is never just right.