"And sometimes he's so nameless"

I have not killed anyone yet today!

Posted in Uninteresting to others whitterings about my life by Chris Jensen Romer on June 1, 2009

And I’m very pleased with myself.  Admittedly I have not seen many people – my neighbours in passing, the bank staff, the check out girls at Wilkinsons — but so far the streets remain quiet. The Four Horsemen are still feeding their beasts, the stench of paint and cleaning products not blood fills my home — all Quiet on the Western Front.  As the temperature climbs towards 88 degrees, my friends have placed themselves in prison, buried themselves in basements and barricaded the doors, or flown off for a quick holiday in the Med. They know all too well what follows…

Now some of you may be thinking “not kill anyone? That is trivially easy, hardly a cause for celebration. I often go months without killing anyone.” Others may be wondering which War Zone I am in, and be wondering when I signed up to serve Queen & Country. Well the only front I am facing is a high pressure one, and it is the temperature that is my enemy.

Now admittedly not killing people is generally something I find very easy – up there with writing essays, critiquing academic papers, creating RPG supplements, making coffee, investigating spooks, not voting Conservative and seducing supermodels. Once the temperature climbs to close to 88 degrees however, all that goes out the window. I watch as my happy peaceful and rational faculties erode, and I become increasingly paranoid, tetchy, neurotic and annoyed with life. Usually I get annoyed with my girlfriends employers for some reason – or with friend’s bosses who are pushing them around. My innate anti-authoritarianism grows, and my mood passes from cool rational reflection to the kind of state Genghis was in when he fell upon Samarkand, and piled the 24,000 inhabitants skulls in a neat pyramid outside the gates. All rather OCD actually – a short course of Seroxat and the Mongols might have stayed on the steppe and devoted themselves to writing indignant letters to The Times.

I wonder if Alaric the goth would have laid waste to Rome if the weather had not been so unreasonably hot in Italy? The Goths were used to the civilized climate of Scandinavia – and mad dogs and Englishmen may go out in the midday sun, but us Scands should never try it.

The problem of course is Dave Syndrome. At least I think that is what it is called. This entirely fictitious disease forms a central part of the plot of Black Books, Series 2 Episode 3 – Fever – when Manny is desperately trying to avoid succumbing to it. I have been a martyr to it all my life, though I suspect I get it worse than Manny, judging by the scene at the end of Black Books – an uncannily accurate depiction of what I look like when suffering…

I found the episode here – if you are only interested in what I end up like, skip 23 minutes to the last minute. :)

Oh well, getting cooler now! I expect I can last till tomorrow now. Anyone else suffer from this terrible disorder?

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2 Responses

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  1. Andrew Oakley said, on June 1, 2009 at 10:12 pm

    PWEI’s single “92 Degrees F” touches on this issue. Apparently, there are more murders at 92F than any other temperature. Not convinced how statistically significant this average is.

  2. Chris Jensen Romer said, on July 27, 2009 at 11:36 am

    You could have gone for the Boomtown Rat’s Someone’s Looking at Ya? – “most killing is committed at 90 degrees…”

    lyrics by Bob Geldof

    On a night like this I deserve to get kissed at least once or twice
    You come over to my place screaming blue murder, needing someplace to hide.
    Well, I wish you’d keep quiet,
    Imaginations run riot,
    In these paper-thin walls.
    And when the place comes ablaze with a thousand dropped names
    I don’t know who to call.
    But I got a friend over there in the government block
    And he knows the situation and he’s taking stock,
    I think I’ll call him up now
    Put him on the spot, tonight.

    They saw me there in the square when I was shooting my mouth off
    About saving some fish.
    Now could that be construed as some radical’s views or some liberals’ wish.
    And it’s so hot outside,
    And the air is so sweet,
    And when the pressure drop is heavy I don’t wanna hear you speak.
    You know most killing is committed at 90 degrees.
    When it’s too hot to breathe
    And it’s too hot to think.

    There’s always someone looking at you.
    S-s-s-s-someone.
    They’re looking at you.

    And I wish you’d stop whispering.
    Don’t flatter yourself, nobody’s listening.
    Still it makes me nervous, those things you say.

    You may as well
    Shout it from the roof
    Scream it from your lungs
    Spit it from you mouth
    It could fall on deaf ears to indulge in your fears
    There’s a spy in the sky
    There’s a noise on the wire
    There’s a tap on the line
    And for every paranoid’s desire…

    There’s always Someone looking at you.
    S-s-s-s-someone looking at you…
    They’re always looking at you.


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