I’ve just returned from Croatia, where it was 32 degrees of… that new one, not the Farenheits, they’re just for old people and Americans, and I’ve been to Ayers Rock in mid-summer and Sydney in a heatwave, done Death Valley in August, went to a wedding in Ischia where the bride melted, along with most of the guests. But nothing could have prepared me for London in the June time of mid-global-warming.

You want hot weather? Come to my house. It’s fucking horribly, unbreathably, breezelessly, suffocatingly, sweating-like-a-piggingly, hot. I was sweating this morning before I’d pulled my underpants on, at 7.40. Then I went to Tai Chi. Where white crane spreads wings, to show sweaty underarms, duck sat down because it was too hot to get up again and fair lady weaves shuttle became sweaty bastard weaves nothing in this temperature.

It was so hot by the time we finished, I cooled down by playing tennis. That famous antidote to overheating. Run around in the sun for an hour. Works every time. Just not very well.

So what can you do cool down? Drink plenty. In my case, of tea. It’s like water but warmer, browner. That didn’t work. I tried doing some gardening. Gave up fairly quickly.

The obvious answer would be to go to Brent Cross. It’s air conditioned. Or spend the afternoon in Marks and Spencer food hall, always totally frigid in there. Unfortunately I hate Brent Cross and can’t be arsed to go to M&S.

Holidays are going to change. We’re going to be going north, instead of south. Heading towards the arctic. Whilst it’s still there. Norway, Iceland. Greenland; bit drastic perhaps but get there before Trump gets it. Or Russia. Siberia. Which used to be a threat but now has become somewhere desirable for those gruelling summer months. Once they lift the sanctions.

As usual, the Conways are way ahead of the curve and in August we’re going to Newfoundland. Oooooh, that’s cold/bleak/far. But we’re cold/bleak/far type people. Intrepid explorers. Following the Klondike trail (I know, wrong end of the country but it’s a metaphor, once I work out what for) wherever there are really posh, princessy type hotels along the frontiers of civilisation. It’ll be just us and the bears. Mel doesn’t realise that ‘riding shotgun’ is literal over there.

But til August, we shall sweat in heat-soaked London.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx