Between a hard place and a big woman

It has been sweltering hot in Cape Town the past couple of weeks.  Nothing has brought much relief, not even the wind that has been pumping at 25 knots the past couple of days.

Wind in Cape Town doesn’t bring relief from the heat, it only means that you are still hot while simultaneously being blown into a 45 degree angle.

I am unable to even lift an arm for fear that I may become airborne when the wind finally gets hold of that lovely floor length sundress that I thought would be such a good idea to wear because I was too damn lazy to shave this morning and the dress was the only way to hide the proof that I could become a specimen in one of Jane Goodall’s programmes.

I don’t do well with heat, when it gets this hot I become a prime candidate for spontaneous combustion. I also don’t do well with traffic, and don’t have the willpower to suffer through traffic into town every day, that leaves me with taking either the train or the buss.  Having been on the receiving end of buss driver’s driving abilities, I decided that taking the train is probably the safest way to commute.

The train affords me the time to sit and read my book, which otherwise I would not be able to do, it also allows me to sleep for that little while before I get shoved into reality-something that generally gets frowned on when you try and do it in traffic-fellow road users can be so pedantic sometimes.

The train is really lovely (I am hoping if I say this enough it will eventually become true) except on really hot days, days where in the immortal words of a friend “you sit in your own crack-sweat”.  Yesterday was such a day.  It is was so stuffy inside the carriage that even with all the windows open you could barely get catch a breath that has not been breathed by someone else(oddly enough the only time one gets a decent breath is right across I&J in Saltriver, in which case you don’t want it).

It may have been the heat, or the fact that Metro Rail cancelled yet another train and the people that would normally be spread over three trains were all squeezed into one, thereby making the fresh air: poop ratio 0:10, but in any event, being early for my train (which was cancelled) I managed to run across to the next one (which of course was two platforms over-no need to join a gym if you take the train-just another service Metro Rail offers its clientele) and catch one of the last seats.  Fabulous! It was prime real estate, the corner seat right by the window, it was a 3-seater, but I was hoping the giant man sitting next to me, with his legs spread as wide as if he was going to be giving birth any moment, might dissuade someone from sitting there. If only.  Two minutes after I got settled the giant man was joined by a giant woman. Who promptly sat on me, for the entire 40 minutes that it took for the train to get to Retreat-where thankfully, they disembarked.  I tried wriggling in my seat, sighing loudly when she jabbed me with her elbow, jabbing her with my elbow and then mumbling an insincere “sorry”, the evil eye, but clearly this lady was not to be moved, not even a millimetre.  But today I am going to be trying out my secret weapon.

And if I happen to be sat on again today, I will keep my finger on that “mister”.


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