Surviving a Brisbane Summer
I’ve been holding off on doing this post because I didn’t want to jinx the arrival of winter. There was a cool change a little while ago that I cockily donned trackies for, only to rip them off five minutes later. For my arrogance, summer reignited its fury and cursed me with 30 degree temperatures the following few days. Just to let me know who’s boss. No, I’m not going to make that mistake again. You’ve got to be ‘the Citadel releasing a white raven to announce winter has come’ sure before you write a post about a Brisbane summer. There you have it folks I’ve been reading way too much GoT!
As this post will allude to, I am not built for summer. The pommy genes run deep and I am not equipped to handle the heat. Kudos to those who are, my hat goes off to you. I have friends who relish the sky rocketing temperatures and suffocating humidity. Lapping it up like a lizard on the road. You do that champ, Imma bunker down in my man made igloo until winter returns. But for those people who have never lived through a Brisbane summer and whose standard response to my endless complaints is, “I enjoy the heat.” I say to you, “Fuck off mate.”
A Brisbane summer is unrelenting. It isn’t a heat wave that lasts for a few days. It’s literally you being four months deep, swimming in a pool of your own sweat, trying to gather up enough strength to complete everyday tasks. There is zero level of comfort. Just sweat and rage invoking heat.
This past summer we were mid-heat wave when the weatherman announced another heat wave on the way. How can you have a heat wave on top of a heat wave? Is there an unprecedented amount of bad people in Brisbane that Jebus has no choice but to open the gates of hell on our tiny forgotten city?
During summer my hot yoga classes were a cool relief compared to the outside world. That’s some nek level kind of wrong. How people can argue global warming is beyond me. I realise doing hot yoga before work probably didn’t help with my heat issues. The fact I couldn’t get dressed in the studio after my shower, without dripping in sweat moments later was probs a sign I should approach my mornings differently. As was my ninja level skills trying to get dressed in the car so I could be in the comfort of some intense aircon blasting. Ain’t nobody or no season gonna mess with my yoga routine.
To top off the lack of comfort and constant sweatiness, I embody a solid case of hage. Heat rage. It’s a thing. I possibly birthed it. Probably birthed it. But it is most definitely a legitimate emotion, and so help anyone who gets in the way of it. I feel particularly sorry for past boyfriends that have copped the hage in full swing. If you value your manhood do not even look at me sideways. If it’s still 37 degrees at 9pm and you even consider touching me I will dismember you. That came across rather violent, I’m generally a somewhat level headed person... I swear.
The writing is clearly on the wall here. I’m living in the wrong city. If we’re really being honest, probably the wrong country. But there is always a silver lining. A Brisbane winter is a truly wonderful time of year. Even if it is for all of two weeks :P.
