Bank holiday a la britannique, and the choice was to a) sit in a car wishing we were dead, or b) trawl around Homebase wishing everyone else was dead. All we were looking for was an electric fan. But fans sold out weeks ago. Then we tried Woolworths for parasols, assorted bits of garden furniture, hoses or paddling pools. But Woolworths has restocked its shelves with back-to-school packs of pens and winter goodies such as thick socks.
The only good thing about this "long" weekend was the weather: it was perfect to moan about - and boy, did everyone I queued behind moan. "You don't know whether to take out the brolly or the sun cream," was the favourite at DIY hell. The Woolworths clientele favoured schadenfreude: "Thank goodness we didn't go to the coast like Jean and Derek. They're probably not even at Croydon yet! Tee hee." The aisles were awash with miserable, stressed people, heads lolling, looking about as pleased with the late-summer warmth as Ebenezer Scrooge with a sunburnt wallet. The Underground was packed with suits that looked as if they needed wringing. One poor woman's hair was plastered in straggles to her head. She was wearing black trousers, boots and a long shirt. Her outfit screamed: "I'm an Englishwoman, get me out of here!"
We just don't do tropical very well this far north of Ecuador. To cope with living in a land almost as baked as the surface of Mars, the Aussies invented "No worries, mate", a catch-all phrase thrown into conversations or transactions to ease the tension when the sun is making your blood boil. Swathes of the Americas and Europe chill out by taking a siesta at lunchtime. As I'm soon moving to the south of France, I've been warned not to expect service in a hurry. I'm going to have to drop the "chop chop, hurry up, you chaps" attitude that is a national leftover from the days of empire, and adopt a heat-soaked, laissez-faire feel instead.
When the mercury bubbled at 100 degrees Fahrenheit, I should have given up ever finding a fan for our oven-like flat. That day, the kids and I joined hundreds of others at the local lido. But, being English, I forgot that a small bottle of Evian is insufficient for a family of four for a whole day and, in the pounding midday sun, I joined the queue for ice cream and junk food. At 12.30pm, it was 30 metres long. I was still there half an hour later. Finally, I had an attack of ice cream rage.
It happened when I reached the shop window. A teenaged girl rushed past me to stand next to her mum, who was being served. "No!" I yelled. "NO!" The girl jumped and started stammering an excuse. But I continued: "Don't even think about ordering even a single extra ice cream. Because I'm next, understand? I AM NEXT!"
I had expected a small round of applause for my strong stance on queuing etiquette. There was silence. I looked along the international line-up behind me and realised that my fellow swimmers hadn't been queuing so much as standing around enjoying the sun together. Waiting for their drinks wasn't a chore to be endured, but a break in between swims, or showing off their muscles poolside. No one was as stressed as me. The black guys behind me looked bemused and asked if I was all right. The girl I had yelled at explained quietly that she had just come along to help her mum carry the snacks and drinks back to their family.
A new study from Germany predicts that white Europeans will eventually turn black if global warming continues. Ultraviolet radiation in sunlight increases the body's production of melanin, the dark pigment that protects against sunburn and cancer. If heatwaves such as this last one become the norm, Europe could one day be the new Africa. Germans will be living a Mediterranean lifestyle. And I'll have to chill out.
