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Cold
12 September 2004
Brrr. I’m not sure if the weather’s actually got suddenly colder, but it is utterly certain that I have. I am full of cold and shivering, with sneezings and a bad throat to boot. Would that I could boot them; I have - of course! - a gig in two nights’ time. If you’re within striking distance of Manchester, come to the Chinese Arts Centre on Thomas St, 7.30 on Tuesday, and hear me wheeze and cough. It’ll be a treat.
Meanwhile I’m living on hot buttered rum and toddies, and the heating has gone on. Which, as it always does, has confused Misha mightily, so she has to go on her seasonal perambulation to locate just where is the warmest spot in the house. She’s always quick to notice that it’s shifted, but it takes her a day or two of trying here, trying there, before she’s certain just where it’s gone. Sometimes there’s even a need for compromise - a hideous thought, to a cat! - between maximum warmth and maximum comfort. I do scurry around behind her with her bed-in-a-box, but I honestly can’t balance it actually on top of a radiator, however often she suggests that I might try. Besides, the top hot spot will shift again in a week or two, when I turn the thermostat up. Must be something to do with physics, temperature gradients, the circulation of the air; or else it’s just the doggone orneriness of the universe, which I think amounts to pretty much the same thing.
© Chaz Brenchley 2004
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.