the roof is on fire
we don't need no water
let the motherfucker burn
Australia, particularly south-eastern Australia, is the roof. We're burning in 40-degree-plus heat (that's 104 in American money, and 313 in science land) and we have been doing so for the last week and a half or so. In other words, it is FUCKING HOT. It's no longer Paris that's burning but Victoria. A large amount of Victoria has somehow been affected by bushfire - places not 100 kilometres (which is Australian for 62.5 miles) away from here have been ravaged (among others), at least 14 and up to a possible 40 people are dead, and 100 homes have been destroyed... and we've escaped unharmed. Again.
So how the hell does one escape the heat in a house without split-system air conditioning? How does one escape the heat in a workplace that is designed purely for deep-frying convenience food? We don't. We suffer, or we hide in the freezer for as long as we can.
You know it's hot when the cats stop monopolising the bed and start monopolising the cold concrete floors. You know it's hot when cricket gets called off two weeks in a row (which, incidentally, almost puts us out of the finals). You know it's hot when the supermarket sells out of your favourite flavour of icypole. You know it's hot when your fan collapses from overwork. You know it's hot when you wet the (relatively aquaphobic) dog with a bucket of water and she doesn't complain.
The state government has come under fire (pardon the pun) as there have been many ill effects of the searing heat. Public transport in Melbourne has failed as air conditioning on board trains and trams has died and train tracks have buckled, there have been many blackouts around the state, and emergency services are struggling to keep up with the insane demands that are being put on them. I wouldn't be surprised if the government was making off with all the icypoles, too.
I am wrecked.