That is 42 Celsius today. It’s the third day in the last decade that it’s been over 40.
You go outside and feel your eyeballs cook; the skin almost comes off the bone, bubbling on your arms in the extreme heat. Nothing moves. The birds sit in branches with their beaks open, to cool themselves. The leaves wilt. The air has a sound though – it hisses.
Sit inside, the windows and doors closed, the air is cool. No respite this evening, not until tomorrow they promise. More heat on the way.
Finished The Bell Jar today. 50th anniversary for Plath’s novel this year. It gets better as it goes along. Sad book. Tragic, of course. Reminded me of Catcher in parts; the sassy tone, the frustrated clever references.
More of this heat and nothing much to do but read in the cool of the basement.
60th anniversary of Waiting for Godot this year. There’s been a bit of commentary on it. Pity the title is never analyzed in English and consequently adds to confusion over the play. In French it’s While waiting for Godot and the subject of the play is not central, it’s not the objective, as it is in English. Perhaps if audiences knew that the bewilderment over its apparent meaning would disappear.
That’s enough. Keyboard is too hot. 42 degrees. That’s 107.6 in Fahrenheit.
8th January 2013