City of Sweat part 2

I know I have already posted a rant about London's shitty inability to handle hot weather. But it's getting on my nerves, and if you're not in the mood for my angry raving then fuck off to another web site. I'm sure you can find a 'nice blog', with some silly bitch posting photos of her wanker kids. Go there instead.

It's still Summer in London, and I'm still sweating my nuts off. This city is renown for it's endless grey winters and the powers that be have decided to just ignore Summers altogether, even though we are currently in a heat wave. A lot of Pubs, shops and houses are unbearable at the moment, but it's public transport that is leading the volcanic race.

Time for a quick History lesson. Look at this guy below:

Know who that is? Why, it's Willis Haviland Carrier the man who invented Air Conditioning in 1902. Do you know what that means kids? Air Conditioning has been around FOR 104 FUCKING YEARS.

So why in Blue-Blinding-Fuck are the following temperatures being recorded in London:

47C (117F) ON TUBES

52C (126F) ON BUSES

Yes kids, that's fucking warm. To put it into perspective, it is illegal to transport Cattle at temperatures hotter than 27C(81F) according to European Union guidelines. One of the locals summed it up best in the Evening Standard:

"Surely the Central line has to be the seventh circle of hell. It just gets hotter and hotter. How come you can travel through France, Spain, Germany and Italy on air-conditioned trains, but not here? It is a joke and we're supposed to be hosting the Olympics"

It boggles my mind that this giant G8 tourist infested Leviathan of a city has such a miserable attitude to keeping the populace cool. The city is riddled with night clubs slugging their patrons 10 quid for entry, £5 for drinks, yet still won't shell out for a simple air cooling system you could find in a 2 dollar Taiwanese Brothel. Fucking Bastards.

I should probably learn to accept the conditions and stop complaining. But where's the fun in that? Most people don't realise the simple cathartic joys that come from word-spanking a blog like this. And I know for a fact that there are women reading this post right now getting turned on by my pure masculine anger. Ladies, there's nobody watching.

Go ahead and flick the bean.