My legs came out today. No, my knees did not announce that they had finally admitted that what they needed was a same-sex relationship, I mean that today was the first of the year when I felt compelled to don a pair of shorts.
Not a pretty sight. Pale and uninteresting they might be, but this was not a fashion statement, just relief at having escaped my suit after a warmish day.
In fact, the first day when I climbed in the car and thought, “Wah! It’s a bloody oven,” and had to steer by fingertips because the wheel was so hot. Thank goodness for air-con.
So here I am in my shorts and no gooseflesh as yet, the only use for which is for striking matches against when you’re trying to get the barbie going on a cool evening.
The point being that we’re less than two weeks from the longest day of the year and, until today, I was still in jeans au casual. Where does that leave global warming? I thought we were supposed to be increasingly freezing in winter and boiling in summer? And bits of the shoreline turned into desert or tundra?
But it ain’t. And me drawing the conclusion that global warming doesn’t exist based on the experience of one day or season is as mad as the reverse.
I shouldn’t doubt the scientists. If I do, that way madness lies. But then if I don’t, well, that way madness lies as well.
Hell on a handcart then.