As I start to compose this, the temperature in my little study is 27ºC as the residual heat of the sun still radiates through the blinds that cover the window behind me.

What a scorcher!

We’re having a heatwave here in the UK and it is divine.  The temperature has exceeded 26ºC for the past three days and the sun has beamed down on us since the storms that plagued the weekend were expelled.

I love this weather: the prickling of my skin as it’s stimulated by the ultraviolet rays; the perfect temperature; the sound of the fan in my bedroom as it hums through the night; the warmth of the light and the way this changes the colour of everything.

Of course, it’s not great weather if you happen to be stuck in a hot car, but the traffic is easing now that most of the schools have broken up for the summer and I have air conditioning.  At the first sign of the temperature rising as we emerged from winter, I tried the air con in the old/new (OLD) car that I bought in February.  It didn’t work.  After a couple of regasses at my local Kwik Fit, it still didn’t work, so I enlisted the help of the internet to find somebody who might be able to fix it.  He came one Saturday morning, the man with no personal skills, and soon detected a leak in the condenser, he’d get me a quote and call me back to arrange fitting.  Those fuckers at Kwik Fit were supposed to test for leaks before they put freon in the system; to put freon in a leaky air conditioning system is very bad for the environment and probably even illegal.  They’re now on my list of boycotted companies along with Pizza Express, Subway and Waitrose (although I don’t so much as boycott Waitrose as simply don’t shop there because we don’t have them up north).

The lady from Kool Car, were they called Kool Car?  Anyway she phoned me up to let me know that it would cost £208 to replace the condenser, service my system and regas it.  At this point, I had to make a decision: air con or brakes?  The air con won out; I can always use other vehicles or objects in the road to help me stop, but I simply can not bear the prospect doing without air con. And it is ICY cold, I love it!  So here’s a lesson to you: never get your air con redone in one of those places where they use an all in one machine.

The whole experience has taught be quite a bit about air conditioning systems in cars.  For example, there’s a thing from the evaporator called a drain tube and if it gets clogged, water pisses all over the passenger footwell carpet.  I discovered this yesterday.  Every adversity brings an opportunity to learn.  I discovered Ray the Mechanic on YouTube – the things he did with compressed air!

So anyway, not being a wholly irresponsible driver, the car is booked in to have its brakes sorted on Friday.  Kerfuckingching.  August will see me doing a bit of motoring with actual passengers and I obviously want to make sure that I can slam my brakes on and stop the car if I need to shout at them.

Lycra

The sunshine does bring its share of menaces: flying things; smelly things; noisy things; two wheeled things.  Yes, no doubt enthused by the Tour de France’s grand depart from Yorkshire last month, the roads are swarming with idiots in lycra who think they’re Mark Cavendish in that they insist on taking up the entire width of the road for their cycling pursuits and assume that cars should get out of their way – because that’s what happens for Mark Cavendish!  They irritate me, they are a danger to themselves and others, they are often aggressive and they are often completely thick.

The roads are narrowed because of cycle lanes.  Where do the cyclists ride? on the outside edge of the lane.  Or even in some cases, right in the middle of the carriageway with no intention of moving over for motor vehicles.  And then there are the three or four abreast ones who ride along winding country lanes with absolutely no care for the fact that they’re being complete bellends, they relish this.

I’ve had occasions where cyclists have tried to undertake me as I’ve been slowing down to turn left – and yes, I always indicate, yes, I will always slow down to let a cyclist clear a junction before I turn left if they’re in front of me.  There’s an unwelcome aggression that stems from a sense of them being hard done to by other road users.

Red lights mean nothing to a lot of them: another day, another pelican crossing, another near miss with another knobjockey ploughing on through when it was green for the pedestrians and red for him.  A colleague of mine had her jaw broken by one of these idiots in a hit and run.  No way to identify the culprit, no way to bring them to justice.

Some motorists are idiots too, lots of them, but motorists in general are licensed and insured, they are accountable for their actions and they are traceable if they cause an accident and hurt somebody.  So what’s the deal with the Lycra Nazis?  Nothing.  They just whinge and moan and get more road space without anything being introduced to make them safer, for their own sakes more than anything.

I hate them.  Rocky hates them.  And I’m sure the baby Jesus hates them too.

Commonwealth

The Commonwealth Games start in Glasgow tomorrow, the opening ceremony starts in ten minutes.  I’ll not be watching.  I SHOULD be watching, but I’ll be fannying around, bringing washing in and that.

One thing about these games is that the we compete as individual UK nations rather than Team GB. I’m hoping Stornoway has its own team.  I’ll cheer them on loudly.  I do love their black pudding.