Bloody hot

I was wondering, as I meandered across Parliament Square earlier (round the tourists, try to avoid the lost people trooping out of the DTI) why I was so … well, sticky. Particularly my legs.

Then I realised I’d made the questionable decision today of wearing boxer shorts made out of lycra. I might as well have shoved a hot water bottle down my trousers, frankly.

I’m beginning to wonder why I bought the things in the first place. Yes, they have a picture of Mr Happy on, but that’s not really enough of an excuse. Perhaps I’m going mad.

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