*Parental Guidance* – The following post contains scenes of a disturbing nature.
*Young Adult Guidance* – If you have ever been/are currently/plan on becoming attracted to me…. prepare to be disabused. Eroticism is going directly to jail, it will not pass Go, it will not collect £100.
Mercifully near the end of my stay at the orphanage, our cat-fancying matriarch demanded modesty. Fair enough I had been wearing rather short shorts…. but for the love of electrolytes… it was 38 in the shade! Upshot? Trousers and the heaviest uniform t-shirt known to man.
I’ll give you a glimpse of my day.
Cycle in boldly sporting my short shorts (very little modesty on National Route 6 in general really). Change into mandatory harem pants and industrial strength t-shirt. Commence Operation Competitive Sweat. This is not your standard dewy glow my friends. This is the big leagues. This is the kind of sweat that gathers between your shoulder blades and slides maddeningly down your spine all day. That collects between your breasts and drips down your torso to soak into the waistband of your fetchingly elephant-bedeked trousers. It drips onto your feet from your knees and glues your legs to the plastic chairs each time your naive enough to sit. It drenches your clothes until they cling to you. It gathers at your temples, on your top lip, at the top of your spine, in your hairline, behind your ears, in the crooks of your elbows. Every available inch of your skin leaks moisture until the salty itch of it threatens your sanity. It starts to cause aphasia. What you would mean to say was “Class, today we will be concentrating on the imperfect participle of the verb To Swim.” What you would actually say was “Class, today I am sweating a waterfall.” Us teachers stopped actually teaching almost completely (almost completely – the kids did at least learn all the forms of and synonyms for the verb “to perspire”.) We preferred instead to trade exclamations on volumes of liquid lost per square cm of skin and fan ourselves with flashcards. We could talk about nothing else. The sweat (and the occasional foray of a student into the ceiling to retrieve the latest stupid cat to get stranded in the rafters) became our whole consciousness.
And all that is before lunch!
You can maybe understand, therefore, that the next stop on my travels made me a little nervous. After a trip to Hong Kong for work with Dad (which I will tell you about soon – there was an incident with ice cream that it is imperative you hear about!) I was headed to the Sweetheart Islands in the Koh Rong Archipelago, on one of which is perched a luxury resort hotel, at which I was the shiny new Food and Beverage Intern. I will admit to the odd nightmare about sweating into the molecular gastronomy of slouching New York juice magnates or perky Singaporean Travel Journalists. How on earth could decadent luxury and satanic temperatures co-exist!!
Thank god for a sea breeze is all I can say! And boy did my new office have a sea breeze!