In England (that's the dreary little island wedged between Ireland and France) we long for summer. All year round we long for it. And when it finally arrives it takes the average Briton two weeks in the blazing sun just for our skin to turn white.
Needless to say we don't get summer very often, It sometimes happens about July, but we have to be careful, it's usually about two o'clock on one unannounced day during that month, and that's it, gone, back to the rain and snow.
So you can imagine how happy and thrilled we were, and just as quickly horrified now that we've beaten our own thirty years record and been blasted for nearly five days with 30+ degrees, and today it's 34 C, that about 108 F in old money. That's probably old hat for people living in the mid west or California, but for us it's the end of the world.
No water in the taps, none in the shops, and all the air conditioners are sold. Most of those had cobwebs, hastily brushed off when the entire sun came out from behind the clouds last week. All the shops I went to said they'll be restocking next week where presumably we'll have to wade through feet of snow to get there.
You might sense a soupcon of cynicism here, but the last time I lived in heat like this was in the south of France, and that was over twenty five years ago. Now I'm old and can't bear it. I was riding my motorbike home tonight and even opening the throttle to the stops wouldn't generate enough wind to cool me down. It almost got me killed but that's beside the point.