When I’m melting. I’d say then was pretty toasty.
I remember heat quite well. Probably because I’m not used to it. I remember the hot days. The hot places. The things I did and had to do to – you know, not die. A glass of water will only get you so far, especially when your freezer doesn’t have an ice compartment, which must make my freezer the only freezer in the world that doesn’t. In retrospect, it was a poor choice for a freezer. We should’ve just got a cooler. Plus, we wouldn’t have to organize it. We could just bung all the food in. Hmm. That might be a good idea. And if it’s big enough, I can lay in it on those rare hot days.
There was one particularly hot day right here in Middlesbrough when it was in the high twenties (yes, it does get that hot in the north of England). I walked to college, around two and a half miles away, to take a test. I then got given a huge folder (honestly, it was bigger than I was), and headed home. That was agony. But I suspect it was the folder and not the heat. But I’ve been around a bit. Been to many countries. Egypt was a tad warm. 33 Celsius. I remember not enjoying that. Ibiza was uncomfortable. 36 Celsius. Every… single… day. New York City. I’ve been there. That hit 40 Celsius. It was as if a hippo was sitting on my chest. But I think the tall buildings created a nice breeze, though, so it wasn’t too bad. And their ice creams are to die for. So, so creamy. Om, nom, nom, nom.
So you see, temperature is an awfully subjective thing. Heat to me is cold to someone else and vice versa. It’s the height question all over again. So, when is hot too hot? For me, I’d say around 25 Celsius. Because that’s when my body gives up working properly.
When is hot too hot for you, readers?
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