Support for my position on weather

My thoughts and preferences for weather are – not to put too fine a point on it – not liked much by others around me, much less understood. However, with the dint of careful and diligent research, I have found two accounts which somewhat support my position. The first is an анекдот …. oh I do mean anecdote and the second is a song lyric….. though both use some generalisations, its all in fun and so using a profane expression I would otherwise never countenance passing my lips (but the opportunity is too good to pass up – even if it leads to responses about the Devil quoting the Scriptures) I will just say Chill!

The anecdote first… and I assure you its relevant to one of the prime issues of the day. I do think I have something common with the Finns

At -10 degrees Celsius, heating is switched on in British homes, while Finns change into a long-sleeved shirt. At -20 Austrians fly to Malaga, while Finns celebrate midsummer. At -200 hell freezes over and Finland wins the Eurovision Song contest. Russians start to have doubts about the theory of global warming. At -273, absolute zero temperature is reached, all atom movement ceases. The Finns shrug and say: “Perkele, a bit chilly today, isn’t it?”

And now the song, quite popular in its day….. readers are free to change either of the principal characters in the lyric with me.

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 those rules that the biggest fools obey,
Because the sun is much too sultry and one must avoid
     its ultry-violet ray —
Papalaka-papalaka-papalaka-boo.
(Repeat)
Digariga-digariga-digariga-doo. (Repeat)
The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts,
Because they’re obviously, absolutely 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 there are 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 British 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.
Bolyboly-bolyboly-bolyboly-baa.
(Repeat)
Habaninny-habaninny-habaninny-haa. (Repeat)
It seems such a shame that when the English claim the earth
That they give rise to such hilarity and mirth –

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 the jungle town where the sun beats down,
     to the rage of man or 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 stupid 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 down and snooze, for there’s nothing else to do.
In Bengal, to move at all, is seldom if ever done,
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.

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