I've been enjoying a number of chats with clients about how hot then stormy then hot it's been. Everything is so dry that looking over my balcony at the surrounding suburb, I'm hard pressed to find the colour green.
No doubt, come Monday, I'll be able to regale my customers with tales of my mowing (what I'll loosely term) my lawn today, which resulted in a cloud of dust and dry dog poo so thick I had a coughing fit.
A few weeks ago, after a storm gave us some brief relief from the heat, I was chatting to a bloke about the hail, explaining how a friend of mine ended up with big ding to their car from it.
"No," he exclaimed. "But the hail was tiny."
"It's true," I told him. "I saw the damage the storm caused myself."
My friend was at home with her two kids when the storm hit.
"MUM! HAIL!" her kids yelled from outside.
"I'm moving the car!" she called back. The car was still fairly new. The last thing she wanted was a dent on the duco.
She raced out. Sure enough there were little white stones pinging off the bonnet.
Rushing now, she jumped into the driver's seat and fumbled with the keys. The stones were coming a little faster now and making a deafening racket.
"Tell me when!" she called out the window, throwing the car into reverse and edging back.
And subsequently hit the side of the house.
"Just a little bit," she explained to her husband when she spoke to him.
So where were her kids? Inside. They hadn't heard her yelling.
So although my friend, like the rest of G-town, doesn't have any hail damage to her car, she does have an awfully big ding in her bumper caused, as I'm sure you'll agree, from the hail storm.
Meanwhile, here I am a couple of weeks later creating a toxic cloud with my mower because there isn't a hint of hail, rain or even light mist.
"Can you die from shit on the lungs?" I spluttered angrily at Tracey when I came in to flush my mouth out and grab a drink.
"Dunno," she said. "But you've clearly got shit on your liver."
Must be the weather: even her jokes are dry.
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