Robyn Anderson

On this side of the world it’s hot. Very hot. In fact, I have one fan on my feet and another blowing a waft of hot air above my head so that I can stay here and write. Outside, the sun is dancing across the dead grass in the lawn and eyeing up my vegetables. The flowers are pretty much a lost cause though the weeds will probably survive. But on the other side of the world, deep and meaningful things are happening. I know this because I have FB friends who live in the north. (Sorry Game of Throne fans). Here in the sun our FB posts are of kids in shorts and we’re spending a lot of time discussing what we’re going to eat on Christmas Day that isn’t going to give us food poisoning. In the north my friends are deep into what’s wrong with everything.  Not even the X-Factor UK is pushing them away from their steady diet of decrying sexual deviancy, racism and industrial greed. It’s what I call, cold weather thinking. Cold always brings out the worst in us. Don’t you recall the story of that scum bag in the South Pole who ate all Scott’s cached food on the way back, while Scott, several weeks behind him, was left looking at the wrappers, then the dogs and eventually succumbed? What about those uplifting Scandinavian fairy tales? Even cold weather sports are designed to kill and maim in a way you’re not going to get running around an athletics track dripping sweat or jumping into a pit of sand.  And it’s no good saying “lighten up.” The poor sods are only seeing a flicker of sunshine once every couple of days. I feel for them but I don’t want to be them because I know when the leaves out here are gone and the ground is soaked with unrelenting rain, I too will be checking out the mean side of human nature. Until then, I’m thinking a dry, crisp Sav Blanc and another pump of the sunblock. Maybe a steak on the barbie for tea?