Sleep: Trump Card Wwoofing

I’ve been fortunate enough to spend the last month on a double bed, which is rare for a woofer; I was half expecting to stay in a caravan with a blanket; there are actually two over the hill here in case more helpers turn up.

Helpers even have a shower and a toilet across the veranda making the whole farming transition that bit easier. I was rather expecting to fight with the insects as I searched for the cubicle in the far off distance during my midnight toilet break.

The heat wave has confirmed that summer is here,  reaching 45 degrees,  I can tell you that my English skin is breaking out in droplets just by sitting still. Two months here has not acclimatised my body yet, which isn’t helped by the room hot boxing itself during the day, despite every window being open; and I fear that this is what Asia will be like: humid, hot and damp from perspiration. Even at night-time.

To save me from this British rant of weather, making the things that are good seem bad, there is a gift that has been sitting underneath a chest of drawers in the room this whole time and I sincerely adore the person that invented this mechanism, I will look you up one day, dear fan maker.

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