Where's The Heat?

I had expected heat this summer.  I know, I know, London is not known for being hot but, in the years prior to moving here, I swear I remember reading articles about London's heat. Heat related articles usually include the number of heat related deaths (sample headlines include: '18-year-old among dead as heat wave continues', 'Mercury tops 50C, 22 die as US swelters under heatwave') and over the years I've begun using these morbid statistics as a barometer for a good summer, at least weather-wise.  I promise, London has had heat related deaths before, and I'm not crazy for expecting heat, but this year there hasn't been one heat related death that I'm aware of.  Come on!

May was beautiful and really set my expectations for the summer.  Unfortunately, since late May we've been stuck in rain and cold reminiscent of a Seattle spring.  This is unacceptable.  I demand heat and sun!  I have just over a month left before we move back north and if I don't get enough heat to last me another 9 months in Scotland I may start cutting myself.

I Was (Pooh) Framed

I’m not sure if this is the proper forum but, after some thought, I figured this was a cautionary tale and, though very awkward for me, should be shared with others.  Please note, I am very fragile with this subject; I have delicate sensibilities and would prefer never to speak of bodily functions.  Promptly upon posting, I will purge this event from my memory and continue as though it never happened.

My office building has poor plumbing.  There are two stalls in the ladies room; the one on the right being far superior than the one on the left thus, the stall on the right is the favourite.  Unfortunately, the stall on the right is not always available.  This is the situation I found myself in early last week.

As I approach the stall on the left I see paper remaining in the bowl.  Though not a subscriber to the ‘if it’s yellow let it mellow’ mantra, but having lived in a society where it is popular (Seattle), I’m not a stranger to using a toilet with paper remaining in the bowl (though I do throw up a bit in my mouth and am not completely comfortable with the idea; delicate sensibilities).  Upon flushing the toilet though, I immediately notice that the paper was not alone in the bowl.  To my horror, I had just used a ‘still in use’ toilet and I had just been pooh framed.

Of course, due to the inadequate plumbing, my flush doesn’t clear the bowl and now I’m a prisoner in a stall with someone else’s feces.  As my body begins to convulse with uncontrollable dry heaves, I become increasingly angry at my predicament.  I'm at work folks, not camping, not at a service station on the freeway, not in a mall.  One expects a bit of civility while at work.  Clearly, the nefarious cow that left me to clean up her disgusting mess is unaware of this distinction as well as under the misapprehension that she is either 1) a child or 2) The Queen.  

The lesson here is simple, if you're going to drop the kids off at the pool while at work you damn well better stay to make sure they're taken care of.  If you don't have the time then don't do the crime and definitely don't hide your shame, disguising your evil as an eco-friendly gesture.

For those wondering how the story ends, I spend very little time in public restrooms and even less when I know I'm not alone.  A 'still in use' toilet qualifies as 'not alone' so I quickly left the vicinity.  I was angry, disgusted, and traumatized when I left but I was kind enough not to stage the toilet like my predecessor.  The next user will have used the stall knowing its current state or, if someone like me, would not have used it at all.