Sunday 4 March 2018

#462 The white stuff

Building a fort under my two duvets had stopped the cold air from attacking me. The light from my laptop screen was enough to type and the slope of my thighs was as good a desk as any for now. I didn't know when the radiator had started struggling. It had definitely worked when I moved in. Last week it wasn't great. Maybe the radiator and the weather had been jointly conspiring against me.

I video-called Naino as I walked to the station. I wanted to show her Goose Green covered in snow. It was the most we'd had in several years. Nobody had made a snowman but I walked past two kids on a sledge. That made no sense. Goose Green was flat. Unless anyone was brave slash dumb enough to use the main road, Dulwich was useless for sledging.

I thought about bleeding the radiator in my room as I walked to work. I'd never done it before. It seemed straightforward. Get a key. Turn it. Then turn it back again. Come to think if it, I'd never seen anyone else bleed one either. Except the guy on Youtube but he seemed happy enough. The lecture hall was frickin freezing yesterday too. Maybe their radiators needed bleeding too.

Summarising undergraduate mathematics on paper was hard enough without the loss of circulation to my outer limbs. I'd started to think about which part of my hand actually did the writing. Gripping the pen harder helped a bit. The motion seemed to come more from a muscle at the base of the thumb but it probably involved the whole arm. My fingers needed warming up though. Hopefully nobody wondered why I kept frantically rubbing my hand against my leg.

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