You walk out of your air-conditioned house and you're greeted by a wall of heat. Anytime of day or night. It's currently 11pm and it's 40 degrees. I've just played football, I felt like a pregnant lady who hadn't slept for a week running round chasing Olympic athletes. In reality I played a gentle game of football with barefoot Saudi teenagers. I thought I had acclimatized! The weather report says it was 46 degrees today, I think it might have been hotter. They have a rule here that if it reaches 50 degrees celcius, construction workers don't have to work (like doing manual labour in 49 degrees isn't dangerous), and I've heard to get round this they doctor the weather reports to say it's a couple of degrees cooler than it actually is. Sweaty rumours.
Eck: "You know when you walk past an open door in England, in the winter, and you get a draft of cold air? It's the opposite here, when you walk past an open door it's like walking past an oven"
The swimming pool has become a close Allie of ours. We treat it well, clean it thoroughly, make sure it's always nice and full, and spend a lot of time in it. Another cactus in our desert is the TMS cricket coverage of England vs India, blasting out of the speakers. Whoever knew Stuart Broad, Henry Blofeld, Geoff Boycott and a hole full of water could bring such happiness. Ramadan, I'm ready for you.
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