On cheese, rain and word limits

“Look at that” said Papi this morning as I emerged from my bedroom and reported to the kitchen for breakfast “she brought some English weather for us to try”.
Sure enough, it was pouring outside. And not the provencal kind of buckets of water on your head pouring, but the genuine English in between kind of thing. Which actually makes Papi happy, as he had been complaining about the dryness of last few months (he just wanted to tease me, cause I brought some English cheese for him to try and has a hard time getting over the fact that he really liked it). I was the one unimpressed, as it mainly destroyed my pastis on the balcony fantasy.
Oh well. I’ve decided that since the situation outside was very unappealing and that my local friends were not banging on the door desperate to see me, I would finish off the bloody assignment. And I did. And I’m, once again, around 500 words over the limit. And, yet again, I am fantasising about various painful kinds of torture I could inflict on the person who came up with such silly word limits in the first place. Which, I’m afraid, won’t make those excess 500 words just disappear.