October 4th: The Shit

I left the house yesterday and I was fully clothed. My jacket. My jeans. My shoes. I opened the door, ready to walk the mile to PoundTown (nee Pound Stretcher) and was promptly blown back inside by a rude but invisible fist of tendrils and trash, fresh from the snow caps just over the beach. Holy fuck Edinburgh, it was warm a week ago! Mere days ago I left and walked around in sunshine and rain and now I'm walking the NOW INSURMOUNTABLE MILE to PoundTown being tittywhacked by ice and rain and hale WHY IS THERE HAIL goddamit Edinburgh, sometimes you're too like Australia - you're pretty, but you're dumb.

Weather is dumb. I'm going to start a tour company and that is going to be the opening remark. Welcome to Edinburgh, weather is dumb.

The burgeoning Apocalypse beyond my flat makes my most recent purchase a curious investment. Why did I buy Genie booty-shorts? My doona (duvet) appreciates them, of that I am sure, but now I have to avoid bare windows lest my knees shrivel and my expanse of thigh and my bony little feet freeze into long and useless Calipo icey poles (Australian for Ice lollies). Who wants to eat Calipos that have been walking around? Even if they're in Genie booty shorts.

I got off track, I think. But winter is coming, the frost bitten gales have infected my sentience with muddy polystyrene, cigarette ends, and dog (and probably human) poo and piss.

I've been here a year and, yeah, sure, I chose this beautiful, dumb hell, but it's still nipply.

I bought gloves yesterday. I've never had gloves before. They're scalloped and stripper red. I love them. My stripper gloves.