Topic: Personal
...and San Diegans, go out in the midday sun.
La Mesa tied an all-time record of 109 (Fahrenheit, for you foreigners), Escondido 112 (114 at the Wild Animal Park), and even Oceanside topped out at 79, right there on the coast. Anyone sensible would be lying low, staying indoors, in the shade, with a tall, beaded glass of water and nothing more strenuous to tackle than a frothy bodice-ripper or a tale of international intrigue.
Not San Diegans, though - people were out attending firefighting exhibitions at the football stadium, going to the Wild Animal Park, and the maddest of them all were out hiking in Ramona and had to be rescued - to no one's surprise but their own I'm sure. Compared with these neighbors, we were positively prescient to spend the day in the shade of the Del Mar Racetrack grand-stands.
The temperature was still stunning between here and there - I opened the door in the morning to a wall of impenetrable, stifling heat and light - like first being hit in the face with a hot towel and then smothered with it by an angry man. Rob and I met two of our guests for lunch in a Mexican restaurant, and all I could do was ask for an iced tea and a salad - just reading the rest of the menu - cheese, chili sauce, sizzling meat platters - made me slightly ill.
Things only improved after we found our seats with the rest of the Otay Water District group, and even then I was getting a little dizzy, having walked through the big parking lot. I had on sunscreen and carried a parasol, but after 10 minutes of milling about near the gates looking for our guests (we had their tickets), the pavement reflecting more heat and light up under my parasol, a panic started to rise in my throat and if Rob hadn't noticed my distress and fetched me a iced tea, things would have gone unpleasant very quickly. And by unpleasant, I mean unpleasant for everyone, not just me; no one wants to watch someone else dry-retch.
The grandstands were very nice though, the shade was cool, the breeze from the sea occasionally moved a hair off my neck or a hem of my new red polka-dot dress, the nearly-awful moment on the pavement receded into the bottom of my cold drink, and I started to take an interest in the horses. We lost every pick, of course; even Rob who spent hours studying the racing forms. But that is not the point, is it? In the shade, a good time was had by all, our guests enjoyed a little excitement, and there was not a single horse-wreck on the tracks all day; which, considering the speed at which they travel and the fact that thoroughbred horses are all a bit insane and unpredictable to begin with, not having a horse-wreck every time defies probability improbably.
It's amazing to think I lived in toasty Riverside for 4 years, walked everywhere that was within walking distance, in the Summer, during the day, worked at an outdoor turf research station, not only survived the baking but enjoyed myself immensely. It seems that San Diego's mildness, the air-conditioned desk-jobs I've had since Fallbrook, learning to take care of Rob, have all served to turn a brown, tough, strident and jeans/T-shirt kind of girl to a cossetted, coddled, and perhaps more agreeable version who favors perfume and black-lace, and carries a parasol in the sun.
Still, only mad dogs and Englishmen...
.................................................................
Mad Dogs and Englishmen
by Noel Coward
In tropical climes there are certain times of day
When all the citizens retire to tear their clothes off and perspire.
It's one of the rules that the greatest fools obey,
Because the sun is much too sultry
And one must avoid its ultry-violet ray.
The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts,
Because they're obviously, definitely nuts!
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun,
The Japanese don´t care to, the Chinese wouldn't dare to,
Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one
But Englishmen detest-a siesta.
In the Philippines they have lovely screens to protect you from the glare.
In the Malay States, there are hats like plates which the Britishers won't wear.
At twelve noon the natives swoon and no further work is done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
It's such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see,
that though the English are effete, they're quite impervious to heat,
When the white man rides every native hides in glee,
Because the simple creatures hope he will impale his solar topee on a tree.
It seems such a shame when the English claim the earth,
They give rise to such hilarity and mirth.
Ha ha ha ha hoo hoo hoo hoo hee hee hee hee ......
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
by Noel Coward
In tropical climes there are certain times of day
When all the citizens retire to tear their clothes off and perspire.
It's one of the rules that the greatest fools obey,
Because the sun is much too sultry
And one must avoid its ultry-violet ray.
The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts,
Because they're obviously, definitely nuts!
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun,
The Japanese don´t care to, the Chinese wouldn't dare to,
Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve to one
But Englishmen detest-a siesta.
In the Philippines they have lovely screens to protect you from the glare.
In the Malay States, there are hats like plates which the Britishers won't wear.
At twelve noon the natives swoon and no further work is done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
It's such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see,
that though the English are effete, they're quite impervious to heat,
When the white man rides every native hides in glee,
Because the simple creatures hope he will impale his solar topee on a tree.
It seems such a shame when the English claim the earth,
They give rise to such hilarity and mirth.
Ha ha ha ha hoo hoo hoo hoo hee hee hee hee ......
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
The toughest Burmese bandit can never understand it.
In Rangoon the heat of noon is just what the natives shun,
They put their Scotch or Rye down, and lie down.
In a jungle town where the sun beats down to the rage of man and beast
The English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased.
In Bangkok at twelve o'clock they foam at the mouth and run,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
The smallest Malay rabbit deplores this foolish habit.
In Hong Kong they strike a gong and fire off a noonday gun,
To reprimand each inmate who's in late.
In the mangrove swamps where the python romps
there is peace from twelve till two.
Even caribous lie around and snooze, for there's nothing else to do.
In Bengal to move at all is seldom ever done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
In Rangoon the heat of noon is just what the natives shun,
They put their Scotch or Rye down, and lie down.
In a jungle town where the sun beats down to the rage of man and beast
The English garb of the English sahib merely gets a bit more creased.
In Bangkok at twelve o'clock they foam at the mouth and run,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
The smallest Malay rabbit deplores this foolish habit.
In Hong Kong they strike a gong and fire off a noonday gun,
To reprimand each inmate who's in late.
In the mangrove swamps where the python romps
there is peace from twelve till two.
Even caribous lie around and snooze, for there's nothing else to do.
In Bengal to move at all is seldom ever done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.
Posted by conniechai
at 2:43 PM PDT
Updated: Monday, 24 July 2006 10:19 PM PDT
