What’s been going on, I hear you ask? Very
little, actually. Other than surviving winter that is. And I know you’re going
to rehash that old, ‘this winter has been so mild’ brouhaha, but try telling it
to those of us in the trenches.
Winter 2015 has revolved around two major
forces – my inability to dress appropriately for the weather and the great gas
heater debacle.
My ankles have been bare when they should’ve
been three-sock deep, and I’ve worn two jumpers when a delicate blouse would suffice.
Just the other day, in fact, despite claims of an icy cold front sweeping
through old Joburg, I ended up baring my deathly pale legs. It resulted in an
attempt to shave them on the go with neither soap nor water. Needless to say
one leg is now severely lacking in an epidermis.
But despite how warm the day might turn out
to be, it’s always cold once the sun has set. And the only thing that’s going
to take the icy edge from your ill-insulated abode is a heater. Gas, obviously,
as electric is useless once loadshedding hits. Gas heater and a hottie (boy or
bottle, the choice is yours) are the only two things that’ll get you to
September. And some sort of warm alcoholic bevvy in hand at all times.
My very worst night of this year involved
darkness, and empty liquor cabinet and a gas bottle that had been closed too
tight. I cried readers. In the cold, sober darkness, I cried.
**Update: The gas bottle ran out last
night. This is not okay
