Most of us struggle in the heat.
It’s a bit like a piece of chocolate constantly melting and reforming. We’re left out of shape and feeling squonk. Every movement is guessed as we lose our ability to be measured. Change chairs? Sort of aim and hope? Get into bed? Aim and hope. Even the crafty juxtaposition of surfaces to ensure a smooth gapless transition can go awry.
As for thinking? Oh, what a mud-filled foggy function. It’s like that brainwashing scene from the Ipcriss File. We are Michael Caine as he agonises in the sea of mental storms.
Here is my week, should you wish to read it: