THERE ARE SWEATERS!

Medications interfere with my ability to handle extremes of heat and cold. Which means that at this time of year the weather is only marginally less a pain in the achterend than it was from the middle of December through the first three months of the year. It is therefore with considerably irritation that while I'm outside smoking my pipe I see younger and plumper people casually strolling about in shorts and shirtsleeves, as if there is no frigid arctic wind at all.
And all is well with the world. Spring!

Bah humbug.

At times like this I long for a warmer climate. Someplace where it's comfortably room temperature outdoors year round.

Because, as you understand, one cannot smoke indoors. For one thing, one has the comfort of one's tobacco-loathing apartment mate to consider, and for another thing if one stays inside all the time one ferments and goes to seed. The joints seize up, digestive processes and mental functions slow down, and one forgets to trim one's beard.

One becomes a hairy vegetable. Covered in dust and cobwebs. Fusty!

Monsoon

Things get overheated in the tropics. Then it rains, and diseases spread. From the end of April through September, downpours. If there are no hard roads raised above the fields, and decent drainage, invasions and wars cannot be fought. The pack-animals sink into the ooze, the European arquebusiers get cranky and rebellious, and liquor for the troops gives out.
Tempers wear thin in the royal pavilions


"For the good of the realm, it has been decided to stifle your consort while she sleeps. She will never recover, you know. And the alliance with Dampukhet is at an end anyway!"

"But Mama, I love her!"

"Silly boy!"


At a suitable point in the narrative, the old bitch royal mother dies of a plague, the prime minister moves swiftly to have the throats of her courtiers cut, and peace returns. And to everyone's relief the rains stop. Soon it will be time to collect taxes and impoverish the peasants again.


In another month it will start getting too warm. And people will say "what lovely weather we're having today!" While waltzing about improperly dressed in cargo pants and tee-shirts, and wearing their gay sun-bonnets.

It's not that I'm a grumpy old fart. I'm just uncomfortable.


"You should have married me, not my idiot sister! I can't put myself on the market again! Just because of that, I'm joining a convent and becoming a lesbian nun! Up your ass!"


Historical romances need more interesting writing. I may very well be the next Barbara Cartland. Central heating and air-conditioning will feature prominently.
Almost as if comfort is a dominant theme.

Heroes and heroines smoke pipes.

If necessary, warmly dressed.

Everyone in sweaters.




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