Okay. All right.
I have something to tell you.
About winter in Delhi.
A time when beautiful birds migrate to the equator and spring is buried under the dreariness of cold days and long nights.
[Waitaminute! We ARE at the equator and we don’t even farkin’ have spring in these parts… lying bastard poets.]
Let’s start again.
Winter in Delhi. Detestable dastardly season [dumb damned non-alliteration].
A time when clichés abound and alliterations run amuck. Evidently.
So here’s cutting straight to the point:
I am poikilothermic.
I’m feeling particularly torturous, so I will let you take in this word, marvel at it, marvel at my vocabulary, and then perhaps just a few unnecessary words more… and yes, okay, I’ll let you in on what it means.
Poikilothermic. That’s what it means.
Yes yes. Go on; make those connections about loving lyrics on three-limbed-two-tailed lizards and such.
So. Getting back to the point of this post, to dwell somberly upon what happens when the temperature drops below 25 degrees:
1.) My extremities go stone cold [how’s that for a lousy-arsed cliché eh? Not bad.]
2.) My nose, as I know it ceases to exist. It becomes a cold, non-osmotic runny appendage connected painfully to my sinuses.
3.) I eat too much and become fat.
4.) My car won’t start.
5.) I have to wear at least seven layers to keep me minimally warm; which makes my back ache and restricts movement.
6.) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 have a dire effect on my overall sense of well being, which in turn adversely affects the fine balance of humours in my body.
I have every reason to be a crotchety bastard/ bitch/ blossoming farkin’ chilblain.
Oh. How I hate winter! [And that’s just too farting poetic for how I’m feeling right now.]
So, for all of you who’ve known me as a happy bright sunny creature, gamboling in the sun, making light of adversities, sharing joy, spreading love, picking posies ya da ya da… take note: sunny days on Shout are numbered.
Perhaps you can tell; it’s already getting nippy.
Oh and. I’m talking Celsius. 25 degrees Celsius.