Last week, after selling my soul to the gods of Aprillia, I managed to replace the scooter I had to sell for next to nothing when our Bloo...beloved mayor decided that anything built before 2007 was a belching behemoth exuding enough CO2 a day to slaughter the population of greater London, and subsequently taxed them out of existence for everyone but the ultra rich.
Imagine my joy as I drove to work on a moderately new machine capable of an impressive turn of speed.
Zooming along at legal-ish rate I almost managed to ignore the ferocious heat of the hottest day in the UK since that asteroid blew all those prehistoric creatures to their graves.
Until, halfway there the temperature light came on, whilst I was doing about forty mph. I absolutely couldn't believe it. I finally get what I want and mother nature comes along and blows it for me.
And to top it off, after waiting almost half an hour for it to cool down, when I finally got to work it was to a raised left eyebrow from my boss (a sure sign of irritation) as it looked like I'd just taken a shower in my freshly cleaned suit.
There was no coolant leak and apart from the kind of dry arid wind one might expect from the Atacama desert, all was well. But it was truly hot: 37.5 degrees C, or 99.5 F in old money. I know that's not really much for people in desert climes, but in England it seldom struggles above above zero degrees.
Far be it from me to shun the sun but I wish our extremely transient summer would sod off. I like it cold.
What you consider hot, I need a sweater for. But congrats on the new scooter.
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