Eight Below

I promised myself I wouldn't do this, but I can no longer resist the temptation. I swore I wouldn't become the British cliche, but either I am too Londonised to care, or the circumstances are so extreme they deserve, nay, INSIST ON, a mention. I am talking, of course, about The Weather.

Who wants to read yet another post about the bad weather in England? If you're British and you're reading this, you'd probably far rather stand around the water cooler in the morning and have a good bitch than read a stranger's gripings (we all know how the Brits love a moan). If you're South African and living in SA, you're probably feeling pretty smug right now. I shall refrain from telling you where to shove your smugness, but please do go ahead and read between the lines. If you are any other nationality, you are probably wondering how in God's name I have managed to crap on about essentially NOTHING for the last 5 sentences, and bewildered that I plan to continue in this fashion. I say to you, until you have lived in the UK, you are not qualified to speak on The Weather.

I'll keep it short. Factual. Simple. The short and simple fact is, I am freezing my fucking ass off and I am miserable about it. I've accepted that living in London means I will have to put up with shitty excuses for summers and frosty cold winters. And for the most part, it's ok. I'm not going to be here forever, and the trade off is excellent: incredible gigs / events / parties, travelling opportunities that you simply don't get in SA, a job market where the world is your oyster and let's not forget the experience of Living in London with some of my very best friends.

But it has gone too far this time. I am now in a winter-induced huff. For the last 3 weeks, the average - AVERAGE! - temperature has been zero. We have had days with "highs" *cough choke* of 1 degree, and the other night temperatures dropped to minus 8. No matter how any layers I wear or how many winter accessories I add, I am still cold - no wait, make that frostbitten. I have a semi-permanent headache that only goes away at night when I am tucked up in bed with the heating going full blast. My veins are standing to attention like soldiers in a parade of purple uniforms, and believe me, this is not attractive. I am grumpy because everytime I start to thaw out, I have to go outside again and this negates the effects of what is a very painful process. My joints are aching and creaking as if I have aged 20 years in a matter of hours, and the first half of my cardio workout at gym is agony as my frozen muscles try to warm up enough so that blood can flow freely.

Even the Brits are complaining. London simply does not usually get this cold. But here we are, defying the credit crunch with our take away coffees, not because we can afford it, but because we HAVE to - if we don't have something warm to wrap our hands around we risk having them fall off.

This better end soon, otherwise I cannot be held responsible for my actions. Is there such a thing as Cold Rage?