Menopanel: An untapped source of energy

I THINK I may have found a new source of renewable energy not previously explored to its fullest. Were I not feeling so insanely irritable I would sit down and tell you all about it in a nice calm manner, with relaxed body language and an easy smile. However, given how cranky I am right now, I will instead explain my brainwave through gritted teeth.

Don’t ask any questions, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t interrupt. No fidgeting either.

I’m calling this untapped source of energy the menopanel. Forget solar panels — the menopanel would harness the heat of a menopausal woman, via small glass panels distributed discreetly around her person, so that when she is having a sudden intense surge of heat, it can be harvested and relayed to various areas in the house where it could be put to greater use than merely reducing her to an over heating puddle of rage. Entire home wireless networks could be run from this energy, as well as dinners cooked and jacuzzis kept bubbling. I’m not much of a scientist, but I believe that I’m onto something. Don’t argue. You’ll regret it.

But why did I not think of such a genius idea before now? Well, until very recently, I had no idea just how hot a woman can get. You could easily mistake it for lust – I thought I was on fire for my boyfriend, but then he went away for a week and my raging heat bursts didn’t. Was I experiencing long distance desire? How did this explain those heat waves still washing over me even when I wasn’t thinking of him at all, but of something far less exciting, like, say, preparing packed lunches or worming the dogs? Whoosh! And another tsunami of heat would break over me like an internal rush of lava. Very odd.

Obviously I am far too young to have the menopause, but I concede I must be some kind of freak of nature, and as such, am currently in the thick of volcanic hormonal activity while still a fresh and youthful fortysomething. It sucks. At the football, watching my team claw their way into the playoffs, I am clawing my jacket off, and swearing at the ref with more vitriol than your average Millwall supporter. At home, I fling windows open and seethe when people say things like, ‘would you like a cup of tea?’

No I would not like a bloody cup of tea. I would like an ice bath and a valium suppository, and for nobody to be at home between now and 2025, or until this thing wears off – whichever is sooner. Meanwhile, feel free to phone your local science facility and offer them my fantastic idea for menopanels, but tread carefully around the primary source of this energy. We overheating women are highly combustible, like Semtex with breasts.

Now excuse me when I go and stand naked in the fridge doorway.