Nope, not this year. I’m not going to subject you to my annual whinge about the horrendous heat here in Milan.
Nor am I going to whine about the temperature shooting from 15°C to 35°C in well under a week.
I won’t complain about not being able to sleep a wink, nor shall I moan about my permanently sweat drenched forehead.
Stop reading, start speaking
Stop translating in your head and start speaking Italian for real with the only audio course that prompt you to speak.
No expostulation from me this year on feeling as though I’m living in a huge sauna. I won’t carp on about how the smothering heat lingers right on through the night either.
I shall desist from mentioning that at around half ten this evening the green pharmacy thermometers were still displaying 30 °C.
Nope, no grouching, no grumbling, no fussing, fretting, griping, groaning or grousing from me this year, on the sweltering temperatures here in Milan.
There, I told you I wasn’t going to complain, and I haven’t.
