Whether to kill

During my several 20-30 minute spans of daily walking to and from various sites, many thoughts bombard my mind…one of them is “This weather is going to kill me. England wants me to die!”
Looking out, through glass windows in a centrally heated house, the blue sky looks inviting, the yellow trees are like gigantic smileys and they all seem to say ‘Come outside and play! It’s a beautiful day!” And surely enough, they whisper this deceitful tune to all the English people…English people who have endured this fatalistic weather since birth and have come to accept all of its zombie-like, undead qualities as the epitome of loveliness. Consequently, for two beautiful (appearing) Sundays in a row, the very nice English guy from upstairs has said “It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it”… I’m pretty sure that the weather has recruited him, certainly against his consciousness, to encourage me to step outside unsuspectingly so that it could freeze me to death.

You see, the sun and England had a huge falling-out years ago it would seem, and ever since then le soleil has been teasing the country. It shines and makes all appear beautiful, but it keeps its heat and its vitamin D inspiring goodness largely to itself. And poor me, who was once tight with the sun, now has to resort to layers upon layers of clothes for warmth, and supplements for Vitamin D… whilst some English people walk gleefully about with bare legs, or just stockings; and with skin fair enough to enable just the right amount of sunlight through to produce the vitamin D needed for survival.

English weather and I certainly aren’t friends, but I’m a fighter… and so I dare it to try its best. I shall stare at it boldly and laugh, both eloquently and defiantly, “Muahahahahaha!”

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