Let’s do this again

14 years on, and we haven’t learned a thing.

We’re supposed to be grown-ups. Adults. And yet, at 6pm this evening, we’ll head out onto the pitch for another potentially epic 5-a-side football game against some other supposed adults.

Nothing wrong with that, you might think – if you aren’t in Cape Town, that is, because if you are in Cape Town then you know very well that there’s something very wrong with it – because it’s rather warm out.

Really actually quite warm already.
Almost bordering on hot, one could argue.

And, as I alluded to above, there’s history here. And it really isn’t pretty.

It was horrible. One of the worst footballing experiences of my life. Within 2 minutes of running around, I was gasping, drenched through with sweat, and feeling dizzy and nauseous. These, even by Cape Town standards, were extreme conditions. The ball wasn’t even flying through the air properly. I felt truly awful.
Some sort of sense of self-preservation should probably have kicked in here. But it didn’t. And so, with a couple of breaks, we continued to toil for an hour. What utter, utter idiots.

We all (mostly) remember (some of) that day.
I think my therapist called it PTSD: Phenomenal Temperature, Stupid Decision.

And it’s already 6 degrees warmer today than it was back on that day in February 2012.

Common sense says that they call the games off this evening. At best, it’s going to be extremely unpleasant, at worst, it could actually be dangerous. But they probably won’t. And that being the case, common sense says that we should forfeit the game. But that’s absolutely not how we roll, and I grudgingly have to respect our determination. Even though we’re clearly being very daft here.

I really wouldn’t recommend such bravado though.
To coin Wilfred Owen:

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro manus mori.

The game is still going ahead as I write this.

See you on the other side, I guess.
And yes, you can choose any meaning of that phrase that seems fit.

Hot

Everyone has their limits when it comes to heat. I never really thought about this before I moved to SA (because I never had to), but I’ve worked out that mine is about 34oC. Anything up to that, I’m fine – or at least, I can manage. Anything beyond that, I’m in immediate trouble; trouble which will vary from just “not very pleasant”, through to “actual death” on the three or four days each year when it approaches 40oC in Cape Town.

Today was below my threshold (just), but OMG. I struggled. And it took a while to work out why, but then I had a quick look, and, well…

Yeah. That would be it.

Honestly, what is this? We’re not in Durban here.

Great for the washing powder industry, I guess. Not so nice for those of use that were having to change clothes every couple of hours.

Bit melty.

Much time was gratefully spent in the pool (mainly because you can’t see the football from there), but while it’s a bit cooler this evening, I’m not really looking forward to just how warm our bedroom is going to be later on.

Tomorrow looks cooler – which will be nice – but my weather apps don’t show humidity, so I’m not really sure what to expect.

Kill the heat with cold beer. Always the best way forward.

Hot

It’s hit a ridiculous 36 South African degrees in Cape Town this afternoon, and anyone with any sort of a brain has been sensibly hiding inside.

I’ve been out and about.

First of all grabbing another morning walk in Kirstenbosch, and then doing jobs and running errands: one of which included delivering some table grapes to an estate agency, and another of which included buying some boerie and spuds for dinner. Quick and easy in the air-fryer stuff.

It’s now been suggested to me that I should go outside (again) and light a fire – a hot fire – and cook the dinner over that instead. I mean, it’s not like I could get any hotter, right?

Right?

We might pop out for an ice cream before or after that.
We will be popping to the airport for more family goodbyes a bit later as well. [sad trombone]

Tomorrow promises to be a quieter, cooler day.
I mean… apart from that thing that’s going to happen…

Day 661 – Reminder to self

We were in the pool again until after 9 this evening. That’s why this blog post is so late.
Sorry, I know you’ve been desperately hitting the refresh buttons on your respective browsers.

Is this January hotter than previous Januarys (Januaries?), or is it just our collective imagination?

Anyway, while we were cooling down this evening, floating and gazing at passing satellites, I realised that I need to get a photo of the pool at night. I mean, I’ve already done that here, but I’m thinking of chucking the drone up to get a proper overhead, rather than one from the bedroom window. When I read this, maybe I’ll remember.

In that post above, I suggested that the pool light was a gimmick, and it is, but it’s a damn cool gimmick, and nightswimming (which deserves a quiet night; I’m not sure all these people understand) is made much more fun by being lit from within.

The heat and the floating have left me a little tired, and I suspect that I will be heading up for an early night ahead of the first full week of school…

Or I might end up watching the Spanish Super Cup final.

Who can say?