8 December 2003
I'm sick of it being cold during the festive season. I'm sick of getting socks and gloves from elderly relatives. I'm sick of being so freezing. Why don't we move Christmas to, say, July, or (better) all bugger off to the antipodes for December, and give each other bikinis on the beach? Why is it so damned cold?
Anna: when does it get warm again?
Meg: um
Meg: august?
Anna: bugger.
Anna: I'm moving to florida.
Meg: are you very cold?
Anna: very.
Anna: my toes have fallen off.
Meg: i'm fucking freezing
Anna: I can't feel my nose.
Meg: i'm typing with blue stumps where my fingers used to be
Anna: I have icicles in my pubes.
Meg: my eyes have frozen over
Anna: the freezer has packed in and they're getting me to sit on things to keep them cool.
Meg: i'm a penguin
Anna: I'm a snowlady.
Meg: a polar bear has just passed me by, because it thought i must actually be dead
Anna: I crashed into the titanic and sank it.
Meg: oops
Meg: that's unlucky
Anna: I am an iceberg.
Meg: Me too. I am bigger on the bottom than i seem to be on the top
Anna: well, i feel bad, but what could I do?
Anna: Just doing my job mate.
Meg: i am actually made of liquid nitrogen
Meg: everything i touch freezes instantly and shatters
Meg: you wouldn't believe how inconvenient that can be
Anna: my leg has just fallen off.
Anna: thonk.
Anna: there goes the other one.
Anna: I can freeze things just by breathing on them.
Meg: some scientists just found me and thought I was a neolithic hunter, frozen in time
Anna: I invented slush-puppies.
Anna: that's just what juice looks like when I pour it out.
Anna: that's how cold I am.
Meg: I am that Mr Chilly penguin ice scraper machine thing from the eighties. People keep shoving cups under me to get ice at the cinema.
Anna: my poo looks like snowballs.
Meg: I cough icecubes
Anna: people think I've got dandruff but it's snowflakes falling out of my head.
Meg: there are small children figure-skating on my back
Anna: I keep slipping over on linoleum floors because my feet are solid blocks of ice.
Meg: Gosh. You *are* cold
Anna: You are *also* cold.
Anna: but I am the coldest.
Meg: You think? I'd like to know who is the *most* cold
Anna: Well, I am *very* chilly.
Meg: I am also rather frozen
Anna: I am 'extremely' cold.
Meg: I am the very definition of "cold"
Anna: I introduced the world to the concept of cold.
Anna: They didn't know what to call the ice age before I came along.
Meg: They're thinking of replacing the word "minus" with the word "meg" on the temperature scale
Anna: scientists have a completely different name for the temperature scale that I'm on. But I can't tell you about it because it's secret.
Anna: NASA tests the rockets they're sending to pluto on my tummy to see if they can take the cold.
Meg: Let's decide this once and for all. Who is the coldest? Let the cards decide.
Meg: Pick a card
Anna: I am the most cold, I think!
Meg: Pick. A. Card.
Anna: *You* pick a card.
Meg: no *you*
Anna: I insist, please, ladies first. You pick.
Anna: (I'm not a lady, I'm *too cold*)
Meg: I cannot pick a card because I have no fingers left
Meg: they snapped off
Anna: I have no fingers, no toes, and my mouth is sealed up with cold.
Anna: You pick.
Meg: my nose is so numb i don't know where it is, and therefore cannot even gesticulate towards the deck
Meg: and furthermore, my synapses have frozen solid, preventing me from thinking at all, about anything.
Anna: This does not, I think, stop you from picking a card.
Meg: Using superhuman effort, my last bit of energy (and therefore the last bit of heat) remaining in my body, I have tumbled off my chair and by chance, landed face down on the Ace of diamonds. This is my selection.
Anna: Being on the verge of collapse from hypothermia, the angel of death has brought me a card as it comes to take me away, and it is a better card than the Ace of Diamonds.
Anna: I win.
Anna: It was a Super Ace.
Meg: Shit
Anna: Well, you win some, you lose some.
Meg: that is true
Anna: I am dead, you can always take that as compensation.
Meg: true, true. But at least if I was dead there'd be a vague hope of someone shoving me on a pyre.