Miss W’s blog: Was it always this hot in July?
I’m asking a very serious question here. In all my Ibiza years, I don’t recall ever being THIS hot at this time of year. It’s like the island has melted into a big, soggy, humid, sticky, icky pile of… slush. Which, as a girl, is not the best type of weather to be getting glammed up in, let alone going out in… unless of course you go from the air conditioned villa, into the air conditioned car of your driver, and are taken directly to your plush air conditioned VIP table in a club, or lovely table in the fresh sea breeze in a beautiful Ibiza beach restaurant. Ahhh, but that’s another story.
At the moment, this is my life. Wake up, sweating. Before I’ve even opened my eyes. Take a cool shower to try and balance out my body temperature, but end up even hotter afterwards from the steamy little bathroom, and my wet hair feels like a wet fish slapping and sticking against my skin. But the thought of blasting the hair dryer literally fills me with dread. In fact, there’s not even much point of putting on moisturiser, unless you want it to slide down your neck in a silky, slimy slick of sweat. Sexy? Oh I think not.
I throw myself dramatically on the bed, shutters drawn, ceiling fan on full blast, trying to restore my temperature to normal. Guzzling water, this takes around 10 minutes, give or take a cat or two climbing onto me and destroying all equilibrium. Then it’s time to get dressed. Cue an intense hunt for the lightest possible items of clothing in my wardrobe, throw on the exact same all-in-one loose fit genie jumpsuit as the day before, and the day before that (don’t worry, i have three in different patterns on rotation – they do go in the wash) and head back to the bathroom now the steam has dissipated, ready for the task of beautifying for the day ahead.
Realise any smidgen of make-up will just slide right off my face before walking to my car (remember I live in the lovely pedestrianised Dalt Vila and must walk 10 minutes and up 97 stairs to reach my vehicle, a walk which I normally love because it’s so beautiful but actually… in the peak of summer… don’t love so much) so make do with a slick of mascara and tie my hair into some form of giant pineapple on the top of my head, just so that not a single stray hair can touch any of my clammy skin.
By 9am, it’s already too hot to eat breakfast on the roof terrace (I can tell because the poor kitties don’t want to put their little paws on the tiles and huddle beneath the shade of an aloe vera plant), so I close all my shutters and go back to hiding in the shaded kitchen, precariously balancing my teensy tiny desk fan on the counter so it keeps the moist wisps of hair from sticking to my face. Can’t face washing the dishes. Don’t want to put my hands in hot water. Grab what’s left of breakfast, along with the desk fan, to my desk to check my morning emails.
Before I know it, time has escaped me and it’s nearly midday (does that happen to everyone else while they’re checking emails or is it just me?). I really need to get myself moving. Clients coming to the office, photoshoots to attend, people to meet, places to go. But I’ve got to get up those fricking 97 stairs first. And now it’s the middle of the day, the sun is reaching its peak and I am going to feel like the wicked witch of the west after she was hit by a bucket of water by the time I open my car door.
Did I mention I park my car in the blazing sunshine and it’s black? My own personal sauna, every day. By the time the air conditioning has kicked in (around seven minutes – trust me, I count them) and the perspiration has dried up, I manage to finally strategically apply make-up at every traffic light and by the time I make it to my destination, you’d never know what a traumatic experience I’d had just trying to get my day started.
Anyway. Enough about me. Is anyone else finding it hotter than ever before?
Brace yourselves… it’s nearly August!
NB. Clearly the author absolutely loves it or would not be here!