Heat

Despite the missus being a child of these climes, she's the first to moan about the heat, when it gets to the moanable stage, that is. So when I went out at just after nine this morning, to encounter the kind of glare one associates with the midday sun, it presaged a day of complaint. By noon the sultry stickiness of it all was taking its toll as we struggled through the crowds at Geylang Market in search of high quality bones for a sup tulang feast on the morrow. Back home I was keenly aware of the damp heaviness of the clothing attendant upon my nether regions, but hadn't the energy to do anything much about it, except fall asleep.

None of this matters, though. I'd trade a sticky, icky day here for a wet November in Manchester anytime and always.