So it begins – the dogged approach of winter, and the question as to how long I can wear shorts without physically incapacitating myself. I can make one more week; one more week for the good of ventilated legs. I’m not quite ready to accept trousers again, and the lack of freedom for unexplainable outbursts of physical activity, with no sweaty consequences.
One of the days at work where you wish people would follow the rules and not turn up in such high concentration. Unfortunately, no one seemed to be picking up my psychic waves. Went shopping afterwards. Whatever my condition, I refuse to live with the slightest possibility of no milk or bread. As Caesar the ape said, “We are not savages.”
In the evening I realised I’ve been commuting a great crime, that of not listening to my native Indian album about ten times a week. Soared through the plains as an eagle once again, although didn’t quite meet the glory cloud I was expecting.