This isn't a post about a downmarket British tabloid. It is, on the other hand, an acknowledgement of that great big ball of fire in the sky which typically only comes out a few times every year here.
I blame my sleeping til 20.00 this evening on the goddamn heat! Plus the fact that I drank too much last night and didn't get to bed until 5.00 in the morning. Was woken at 12, got home at 1, fell asleep until 8. But wait - 14 hours' sleep? Is that right? Is that possible?
Post-it note left by Dad on kitchen door: "Damien, if you get in early enough, put out the washing."
Me: "Ach, I'll kip for a bit, then put it out."
Isn't going to happen, is it?
It's still too damn hot. If I open my bedroom window - which when unlatched will swing open to such a degree that I'm effectively left without a front wall - then the doors rattle like hell. If I don't open it, I feel like I can't be bothered moving an inch.
I'll leave you all with one piece of friendly advice: don't buy Barr's cola to quench your thirst on a very warm day (or evening). You'd rather die of thirst.
