Ben Machell just can’t take the heat for much longer

I’d always promised myself that I would never be one of those English people who complains about hot weather.

It is a weak, petty and parochial habit, and I tend to view those who do it with genuine contempt. I’m not sure why I have such strong feelings about this. I think I may have just heard my mum, who is American, voicing the exact same opinion when I was a kid and it obviously stuck with me. She was, on reflection, most likely talking about my dad.

That being said, and with total respect to my mum, it has been much too hot for much too long. Even I’m starting to grumble. Perhaps it’s because I do a lot of walking, but the amount of sweat I’m producing has been ungodly. I can’t sit on a toilet without slowly sliding off. My lower back becomes a fleshy, slightly hairy set of white water rapids within moments of leaving the house. I constantly look like I’m coming off heroin, only using Calippo ice lollies in place of methadone. It’s horrible and, if you see me around, please just know that I’m really, really sorry.

It’s not just the sweat, though. The heat has been making me ratty. Normally, on my daily foot commute, I’m focused but cool and Zen-like, sort of like Patrick Swayze in Point Break, only during rush hour down Bishopsgate. But lately? Lately I’ve been uncharacteristically aggro, refusing to move an inch for oncoming gaggles of City boys and, on a few shameful occasions, deliberately stepping into their path at the last moment, colliding with a wet ‘squelch’ as I slop against their designer suits. Again, apologies.

At home, it’s even worse. Within 10 minutes of squeezing out some wet cat food for Hank, the heat has baked it into a disgusting patty of rock-hard mystery meat. You can hear him crunching on it at night. And the kids? They’ve taken to gathering round the fan we bought like it’s some kind of pagan idol, dancing naked before it and chanting ‘FAN! FAN! FAN! FAN!’ Sounds cute but I’m worried they’re going to start offering it sacrifices before long.

The only thing that has been keeping my spirits up is the knowledge that, next week, we’re off on holiday to Spain. Alicante in fact. I’ve been checking the forecast every day and we’re looking at 35 degrees, easy. God, I can’t bloody wait.