It’s 8:45 in the morning, and it’s already hot out. Granted, I’m a wuss when it comes to heat. I’d probably keel over from heat exhaustion after a minute in the Arizona desert. I’m just not made for the heat, unfortunately.
As I swam through the muggy air to the office and felt the heat reflecting off the sidewalk, I was reminded of Mr Henderson, my grade six teacher. During the weekly “music” lesson, which was mandatory for all students, Mr Henderson would put on his favourite LPs and get us to sing along to songs from Jefferson Airplane, The Beatles, The Lovin’ Spoonful, and others. I can’t say how often we were forced to sing from his record collection, but it was often enough to make me feel ill when I hear Octopus’ Garden, even now.
Henderson had helpfully transcribed the songs for us and photocopied them. (Actually, it may have been a “ditto” machine… I seem to remember blotchy, purple ink. Does that date me?) Unfortunately, he transcribed them a little bit wrong and had the class singing The Lovin’ Spoonful’s Summer in the City: “Hot damn, summer in the city…” and “Walkin’ on the sidewalk, hotter than a mad chair“.
Consequently, I now think about mad chairs whenever the weather gets really hot.