The Ice Cave

My wife is constantly complaining that she is hot. Growing a human in your belly is apparently akin to ingesting a miniature furnace.

Never is this more obvious than when I walk into the bedroom and the air con is on full bore, the balcony doors are open, multiple fans are set to ‘tornado’, and I fear that she has attempted to cryogenically freeze herself in hopes of waking in an age where childbirth is painless and instantaneous.

The immediate temperature drop could potentially cause cardiac arrest. This is me walking into the bedroom, considering the rest of the house is dealing with the Australian summer.


I’ve read about something called a ‘polar shift’, whereby the magnetic fields surrounding the Earth weaken, provoking the North and South Poles to shift, or flip, causing huge climatic changes. According to some experts, we are long overdue for one, but to be honest, if Australia suddenly became the North Pole I would feel suitably prepared.

You know those ice hotels that you seen on those travel shows? I had previously wondered what it would be like to stay in one, but I can probably just tick that off the bucket list and be done with it, as this is a photo taken from our bedroom.


Every morning when I wake up, it takes about 4 minutes to find my testicles, which have retreated about a foot inside my body. There is perhaps something poetic about that given it was them that got me into all of this mess.


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