Cold Times in Extreme Heat
I have a cold. 102 degrees yesterday, 117 degrees at its peak on the Real Feel heat index, and I have a cold.
I blame O’Dowd’s Little Dublin.
Usually when it’s 90-odd degrees out I carry extra clothes with me on the bicycle. I have room on my bicycle, as Rolf Harris once said. For when I get to O’Dowd’s. Because there are a couple of spots in that pub that are freezing no matter what the weather is.
One of those spots incidentally is the stage, in case you’re ever wondering why the performers are wrapped up like the Reichstag.
Late last night, as I was about to cycle there in the Real Feel of 97 degrees I wondered if I should bring long pants. I decided against it and now I’ve been sneezing all morning.
The dog is laughing.
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
Mate - I must’ve picked up something too.
Got that whacked-like-a-piñata feeling and there is a pair of my underwear in the backyard.
No candy.
I’m not sure if the events are related.
I think the dog’s jealous, not laughing, Eolai.