It is hot. Not just a bit hot (i.e. over 20 degrees or so, at which point most Brits will start commenting that it’s “a bit warm”) but really hot. Andie’s car claimed that it was 39 degrees earlier and while I take that figure with a pinch of salt, it’s almost definitely at least well into the mid-30s.

I don’t like it when it’s hot. I don’t like it when it’s cold, either, but I think if I had to be too hot or too cold all the time, I’d plump for too cold, because at least you can put extra layers on or whatever. When it’s too hot, there’s very little you can do about it.

I mean, sure, you can spray yourself with water, sit in front of a fan or whatever. But there’s nothing that will stave off that eventual, extremely unpleasant feeling of sweating from pretty much every pore you have until your clothes are damp with your own gross, disgusting sweat; that point where you hope no-one brushes up against you or asks to shake your hand because you just know that you’ll stick to them in an embarrassing manner.

The one redeeming feature of horrible, hot, humid days like today is that they often lead to satisfying, pleasant warm rain showers that are delightful to stand out in. But no amount of warm rain is really enough to make up for the amount of discomfort that it being way too hot creates.

Hopefully it will be a bit cooler tomorrow. I’d rather not melt, but at this rate I feel like I’m going to.