Another day, another blazing scorcher.
This heat is wonderful, in some ways, and in others it can just do one. It’s nice to feel summery and all that jazz, but it’s also not nice to find out what parts of your body sweat the most or even what parts you never even imagined could sweat. I can live without knowing both of those things. Quite happily.
I’ve spent the day at work, where everything is boiling. I’ve been building fans and putting them everywhere in a bid to lower the heat in what amounts to a series of windowless boxes throughout the building. So far, it is not working as well as I’d like. To the point where – and those with weak constitutions should look away now – I did my final reset of the day topless because reasons.
As I went to work this morning there was a man on the bus who was talking to himself. He’d already had a conversation about the fact that the bus driver set off before he was seated, resulting in a comical foot slam and double take kind of move, himself was not please with that. But then he got onto the topic of temperature and informed himself that he had worked in 140 degree heat at this time of year. Inside.
The inside seemed quite important.
I assume he’s talking Fahrenheit, when he busted out the numbers. He didn’t ask himself to clarify that, and I wasn’t about to lean over and disturb the one of them, they seemed to be having a lovely conversation.
If he hadn’t said inside, I was wondering if he was some kind of volcanologist, and had been up and down the sides of various dormant volcanoes having a nosy in their craters and generally working out what makes them tick. I don’t think it was that, though. I don’t know how many volcanologists end up in Huddersfield when they’re 80. It can’t be many.
I assume he worked in some kind of factory setting where hot weather coupled with huge machinery equals crazily hot temperatures. And in those days you had to work whatever the temperature, even if your skin peeled off as you were doing it. That’s almost certainly a previous generational fact. We don’t know how easy we’ve got it, being able to keep our skin.
Or maybe he’s me, from the future, slightly exaggerating how hot it can get at work while I talk to myself about the rudeness of bus drivers until someone sits next to me and I recount the whole thing again for their benefit…