Overheating.
Jul.19, 2006, filed under Miscellany
It is very hot here in Fife. Not as hot as it is in Portland, but they have a continental climate over there. I don’t like heat. I certainly don’t like spending my days poking about in skips wearing full PPE [ObNonHealth&SafetyAware;: Personal Protective Equipment, i.e. hard hat, hi-viz, steel-plated rigger’s boots] when the weather is like this:
Don’t like the heat. It makes me irritable and cranky and I don’t sleep properly. This makes me tired and grumpy and means I find it difficult to get up in the morning, especially when I’m having a bout of vivid and violent dreams, as I am at the moment. This in turn means that I miss my morning swim because I have to get to work, and that leaves me with either missing the swim or fending off screaming brats. Either of these things has a further negative impact on my mood.
Right now I’m about as grumpy as a razorback with PMT and a ringworm infestation. Bizarrely this means that everyone thinks I’m cheerful because they don’t realise I cope with this level of irritation by forcing myself to be superficially chirpy. I’m also relatively unstable, as was evidenced yesterday when I sampled some of the Bosnian Turkish delight someone had brought back from holiday and it was like I’d been drip-fed a full score of chupa-chups in the space of ten seconds. I can’t even remember what I started wittering about but I think it was something to do with puffins being rabbits in disguise and drunk pigeons. Either way it caused the office ladies to ask me what I was on.
“Sugar.”
Well, sugar and warped biochemistry anyway.
Oh gods. Screaming brats. Can I really face it? I did go out on the bike last night. You can tell it’s the Tour — normally you’d be ignored, treated as street furniture. At this time of year people lean out of passenger side windows, screaming at you. I think they mean it as encouragement, but having been a cyclist for as long as I have I instinctively take preparatory steps in case they are about to hit me with something. It’s like being overtaken by a motorised barnacle, grasping tendrils thrashing wildly in the search for morsels to sift from the air.
It’s a bit like the crowds at the top of Alpe D’Huez, only everything happens at 25 mph.
Please don’t. Just give a friendly wave once you’ve passed. Screaming and leaning out of windows is terribly distracting and somewhat nerve-wracking. I am not a morsel. You cannot eat me. Go be a barnacle somewhere else.
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Singularity
~something that is singular as (a) a separate unit, or (b) unusual or distinctive manner or behavior; PECULIARITY;
~the quality or state of being singular;
~a point at which the derivative of a given function of a complex variable does not exist but every neighborhood of which contains points for which the derivative exists;
~a point or region of infinite mass density at which space and time are infinitely distorted by gravitational forces and which is held to be the final state of matter falling into a black hole. Sight
