Back in October last year, I wrote that Manchester had the worst weather in the world. Back then, it was gloomy and wet, and had just finished a really shitty British summer. The closest thing to a nice summer I thought I could wish for would be going to Spain again sometime this year. Apparently, I’m wrong though.
The last two weeks have been strangely great. For the past few days, we have had highs of 28ºC. Right now, I am sitting on my terrace with my cat, five stories up, in the shade, at 6:30pm, and it is 24ºC.
For the past two days running, I have gone to the park with Lance to play frisbee. Over the weekend, a bunch of us went to Roundhay Park in Leeds (700 acres of serious hugeness) and sat near the lake and drunk beer (except me because oh, I don’t drink beer). I’m finding myself extremely surprised by this weather. Obviously so much that I’m writing about it.
The problem with this wonderful weather, however, is that most British buildings are built for typical British weather – that is, cold and rainy. This means that my brand new office building that is so new that we are the first tenants and the outside is shiny doesn’t have air-conditioning. I also sit next to the window that gets all the morning sun. Today, it was 33ºC at my desk. I also had a little sweat patch on my shirt underneath my left arm.
I tell you, it’s not supposed to be this hot in Manchester. It just isn’t. I tell you, this is global warming. I’m only half complaining.
… so much to answer for …