Don’t Sweat the Petty Things, and Don’t Pet the Sweaty Things

I have been forced to write in my underpants. I have no choice. It is either that or I sweat all over the keyboard. Which would you prefer? Both things are not particularly pleasing to imagine. But I have been forced to write in my underpants, so you have been forced to imagine it. It’s the heat you see, right now it is 32°C (or 89.6°F if you’re American) and as a British man I am simply not equipped to deal with that sort of thing.

I stood in front of the freezer for a while earlier, which gave some relief, but I had to stop because my laptop was beginning to freeze. I’ve started writing a children’s book called The Wonderbottom Family Animal Rescue Centre for Exotic and Unusual Pets (Book 1 – The Small Door) just because I was bored of reading kids stories with some kind of moral message at the centre of it. I want to write a book that is absurd and wonderful with the intention to make you laugh and nothing more. It is not deep and has no hidden lesson or moral backbone. But it’s hot damn it! (Not the book, the atmosphere). My eyebrows are failing me in their evolutionary role to protect my eyes from my forehead sweat! It is not the best condition to be writing humour!

So instead of marching forth with the odd tale about a curious boy and his pet platypus I have decided to order a kebab and have a glass of whisky and ice instead. I’m not suggesting the kebab will cool me down but if I’m going to be a sweaty mess anyway I might as well make the most of it. Soon I will be squelching on my leather couch with a spicy kebab, a glass of whisky and something exciting to watch on the telly.

God forbid I have unexpected visitors. Their dreams will be hellish for months to come.

Goodbye dear readers, drunken squalor awaits me.