16 novembre 2005


Paris is cold. Paris is freezing.
Paris may have had a gorgeous October month, but that is now well in the past. Please believe me when I say that it is now cold.
Emphasis on cold.
There is no such thing as a middle ground in Paris this time of year. It's either balmy or freezing. And Paris displays an acutely appalling and appallingly acute lack of double-glazing. My flat is sorely affected. I am freezing. I have turned on the heaters, but needless to say, electric heating has no power over the gods or demons of the cold. In fact, I believe it is fair to assume that the gods or demons (I really am enclined to think they are exclusively demons) are laughing maniacally and having a right blast just looking at the electric consumption of my heaters. I believe the demons of the cold have drafted excel tables for the sole purpose of comparing the electric consumption of my heaters and their actual heat generation, and are struggling to catch their breath as I type. I would love to say they might die of hysterical laughter, but we know that's not going to happen. What will happen, I suspect, is that their bloody cousins, the gods or demons of strange and annoying weather phenomenons, will send a gust of even icier wind right when things seem to be desperate for the demons of the cold, which will have two effects: one, it will surprise the demons of the cold into stopping laughing just long enough so they can catch their breath; two, it will make the cold even more biting and my heaters even more ineffectual, so that those bastards will start laughing again immediately.
A whole season. A whole season of having fate point its claws at me and laugh.
I am now in the throes of a severe depression, just thinking that this sorry state of affairs will last for four solid months, without the faintest hope of a reprieve for the holidays.
You'd think the nice thing to do for Christmas would be to make sure everybody's comfy and cosy, wouldn't you? Alas. We all know that Santa doesn't really care about us being comfy or cosy, right? Santa just wants to dump his presents into our socks, and that's that. Fat lot of good that'll do me if I'm blue.
So I will now appeal to your generosity. Together, we can make it happen. Please. How together and what would we make happen? Well, I could be warm, and it could all be thanks to you.
Send blankets! Send logs, coal, Barbara Cartland books, whatever, as long as it burns! Send alcohol! Send men! You get the gist, people!

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