City of Sweat

I was woken by a wasp the size of a Butcher's fist this morning. I had slept with my window open, and the fucking thing came buzzing round my face at about 6am. I found this unsettling for two reasons:

1. There are fuck all insects in London. Honestly, you can go months without seeing a fly or a mosquito. Quite a surreal experience for somebody coming from Australia, where you have to brush 14 spiders off the toilet every time you take a shit.

2. The fucking thing was huge. It looked like a Tiger cub with wings, and proved to be quite a rude wake up call. I was slightly concerned it was going to sink it's stinger into my cornea, but it just kind of hovered for a while then flew out my window again.

The ignorant bug woke me from one of my favourite dreams, the one where I'm getting beat up by Nuns. You're probably thinking that I should keep my bedroom window closed but there's a slight problem, it's at the top of a three story flat - AND IT GETS STINKING FUCKING HOT IN SUMMER. Of course I could buy a fan for my room, but I spent my last 20 quid on a pair of Trainers with little lights in the heels that not only flash red when you take a step, but emit a drum sound as well. I don't regret the purchase, I'm the coolest Mutha Fucka in London when I strut the streets of Soho wearing these.

I've got no complaints about my house in Winter, it's cozy as a Bear's nipples. There just seems to be no contingency plan for temperatures over 20 degrees Celsius, and it's truly not a unique problem. This city isn't exactly renown for it's tropical climate, but it's like they completely ignored the fact that there is a season of Summer altogether. The percentage of buildings and businesses which don't operate any form of Air-Conditioning is quite phenomenal. I was going to update this website yesterday, but the Internet Cafe was positively fucking sweltering. It's hard to dance your finger tips on the keyboard when you're sweating like a Gay Proctoligist. I hit my local pub instead, but there was no Air-Conditioning, no Ceiling Fans, just a couple of desk-fans positioned around the bar. I became confused at one point if what I was drinking was beer or the sweat running off my face back down into my mouth. It's even harder to tell for someone like me, because I actually sweat Beer. Travelling is also a humid mind-fuck. The Northern Line Tube has recorded temperatures up to 46 degrees Celsius, which is the last thing you want to experience after a full day at the office.

This article was actually going to be an update on the World Cup (including watching the Oz game today), but I kind of went off on a "Sweat Rant" instead. Fuck it kids, the World Cup stories start tomorrow.