Hot, hot, hot

Too... hot... to .. type.. must.. find.... life-giving... ice-cream!

It has been seriously broiling over here. And I do mean "broiling", as in cooking in one's own juices, which is exactly what happens to a body if you get on public transport in London in this weather.

Seeing as they still haven't invented teleportation, I have two non-air-conditioned transport options to choose from for my daily commute:

1. The bus.
Pros: Windows allow access to "outside" air (I would hesitate to call it "fresh"). You can get off if it gets really - ie. nausea-inducingly - oppressive. Cheaper; hence more money for ice-cream. Head room.

Cons: Windows only crack open about 1 inch. Seats are made for child-size people; chances are you will spend the entire journey vying for elbow-room with a businessman in a full-length woolen suit. If you find yourself stuck on the Non-Shady Side, you might as well kill yourself now. Duration (1 hour 15 minutes in this traffic), ensuring you arrive at your destination red-faced, dripping with sweat, and harbouring an inhuman hatred for your fellow man.

1. The tube.
Pros: Duration (45 minutes). Free Metro paper to distract yourself from the horror which surrounds you (grasping at straws here).

Cons: Ridiculously, outrageously, hideously packed. 500 different whiffs of underarm BO, all clustered around your face. People who feel it is perfectly acceptable to press their whole, full-length body against yours, crotch and all. No windows. No air. No head room. All ensuring you arrive at your destination red-faced, dripping with sweat, and and harbouring an inhuman hatred for your fellow man.

Time to purchase a pedal-operated machine of the two-wheeled variety, methinks.