The Day It Was Hotter Than Hawaii

Apparently, the British only ever talk about two things. One of them is football but, since the season is now over, everyone seems to have defaulted to the other major topic of English conversation: the weather.

But who can blame us? I mean, over the last couple of months, it’s been mental! Only a few weeks ago, the government announced that we’re experiencing a terrible drought and enforced a nationwide hosepipe ban. Of course, this was immediately followed by non-stop rain, which was so heavy at times that I had begun to wonder if London Zoo had started grouping their animals into twos.

But a couple of days ago, something magical happened. The sun came out! In fact, this week the newspapers have been going on about how it’s hotter in England than in parts of Africa. What they fail to mention, however, is that it’s currently winter in most of Africa.

I read today that it’s hotter than Hawaii. I don’t think that the Hawaiians are going to be too jealous though. I mean, hot weather in Hawaii conjures up images of hula skirts, sunbathing and cocktails on the beach. Hot weather in England usually means overweight people walking around not wearing enough clothes, sweaty businessmen, and a perpetual whiff of BO on the Underground.

This morning the train was an absolute joke. If it’s Hawaii temperature outside, then it’s more like Death Valley in the carriage. As I boarded, I noticed that there was only one seat left. The problem was, it was next to Kettle, who I have found myself sitting next to for the past three days. Every time this guy breathes, his nose lets out a ridiculously loud, high-pitched whistle like an old-fashioned kettle or broken squeaky toy. It’s actually unbearable. So I’ve sat next to Kettle for three days in a row. Each journey is about 20 minutes. Assuming, he emits the sound of a kazoo every 5 seconds, that’s 720 whistles I’ve had to endure (don’t worry, I’ve double checked my sums). I refused to sit next to him again so chose to stand.

By the time the train reached Harrow, the carriage was completely rammed. I found myself pressed up against a little old man - his head nestled between my breasts…my knee sandwiched between his legs. Honestly, I’ve seen Siamese twins further apart than this.

A few minutes later, the train made an emergency stop for some unknown reason – probably a signal failure. A few passengers lost their balance, including my Siamese little old man. As he fell towards me, I couldn’t help but accidentally knee him violently in the penis. Well, I say I kneed him in the penis. A more accurate description would be that he penised me in the knee. I could tell he was in pain, but he put on a brave face. To be honest, I think it taught him a lesson: don’t stand so close to me. I wonder if Sting had experienced something similar when he wrote the song.

Went for a shisha after work with Adam and Marc. We happened to have a pack of cards on us and, after a couple of hours, decided to invent a new card game. I call it ‘Guess the Card’. Simple rules – one person takes a random card from the deck and places it face down on the table. The other person has to guess the card. If he gets it right (1 in 52 – don’t worry I’ve double checked my sums), he gets a prize or maybe someone else has to do a forfeit. Trust me, it’s a great game.

I started off. ‘Marc, if you guess this card right, I’ll get on the Underground right now and go all the way to the end of the Jubilee line and back' (it would’ve taken me about 2 hours). He said the Queen of Spades. It was the Queen of Clubs. Close, but luckily he was wrong.

It was Marc’s turn. ‘Arnold, if you get this right…’ He had a think. ‘You can have my flat to yourself for a whole week’.

I paused for a moment, took a deep breath and uttered, ‘Five of Clubs’.

His face dropped. He turned the card over…Five of Clubs!

So I’ll be moving into Marc’s lovely flat at some point in the next couple of months. I wonder what his fiancée, Avital, will think when he breaks the news to her.

Happy Friday!