It’s Too Hot!

I’m British. It’s in our gene pool to complain, as well as to have endless cups of tea on the go.

I had a dream. No, not an ABBA fever dream, although, based on the number of Mivvi ice lollies I’m getting through, I wouldn’t be surprised.

My plan was simple: retire early, get used to the vibe, and then spend a few months of each year somewhere hot. As it turns out, I needn’t have renewed my passport. The heat has come to us.

Now I’m either dashing for the shade or lingering suspiciously long in the supermarket aisles, luxuriating in the frigid air conditioning. I have come to realise that I do not work well in the heat.

I’ve lived in Australia, and Australia was hot, obviously. But Sydney never felt overbearing. Cairns was certainly sweaty, but I was only there briefly. I spent most of my time swimming on the Great Barrier Reef or climbing out of a pool to get refreshments. Hardly a rigorous test of endurance.

British heat, though, is unbearable.

We have two fans in the bedroom, like duelling politicians, each pushing the same hot air around without achieving anything useful. Having our bedroom on the top floor of a house with three storeys doesn’t do us any favours, either.

We like to be conscious of the environment in our household. Alongside our many solar panels, we double insulated the attic. Up there, the insulation shares space with all our abandoned hobbies, silently ridiculed by the Christmas tree and decorations. At least they get a week’s use each year before being sent back into exile.

They’re like families who save all year for a gaudy week in Benidorm. It’s all bling and excitement, then straight back home again.

Unfortunately, the attic now keeps all the heat in.

I tried the trick of opening the loft hatch. But at night, just when the house should be cooling down, the trapped heat descends from the attic. Its tentacles of warmth tickle your skin then dump a heavy blanket over you making your body as uncomfortable as it can possibly be.

A friend of mine has thrown caution at the fireball and spent several thousand pounds on air conditioning units. Naturally, they won’t be installed until what appears likely to be the first snowfall.

We’ve discussed getting air conditioning for years, but we persist without it, always thinking, “It can’t be that bad. Can it?”

We’re still having the same conversation now, and probably will be for some time. It is the do si do of discussion. It usually ends with, “Let’s have another Mivvi and see how things pan out.”

All I can say is thank goodness for the local swimming pool. Swimming in a full size, open air saltwater pool is delicious to the senses. But within ten minutes of arriving home, the bullying heat is chasing you around the house again.

So, my dream of living overseas in a hot country with a low cost of living has been replaced by browsing houses in Shetland and Orkney.

I can see myself wandering around in a jumper knitted by hand, looking like a detective in a Scandinavian crime drama, warming myself beside an open fire and guzzling hot chocolate.

However, moving requires effort. In this heat, I don’t want to move or make any effort whatsoever.

Give me six months and I’ll be writing, “It’s Too Cold!”

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