In South Africa, we refer to Cape Town as the Mother City. Today, as I was driving home after running some errands at the Waterfront ((barely able to touch the burning steering wheel, barely able to breathe properly in the heat, a haze of hotness rising up off the roads, my make-up running off my face and into my bra)), I came up with a more appropriate name – the Smother City. We’re being smothered by the heat.
37 – see that? They’re lying anyway, you can always add on at least another five degrees! And I know that the poor folk out in the winelands are definitely at 42 or 43 minimum!
I was trying to think how best to convey to you what this weather does to my poor brain (delicate little Lancashire lass that I am, hahaha). I think this works: it is so hot that I could strip off all my clothes and zigzag naked through a water sprinkler on full speed belting out Singin’ in the Rain in front of Alan Rickman, George Clooney and Brad Pitt without caring what they thought, if it meant relief.
I dream of snow.