I don't do hot. I wasn't designed for it. I get very stressed (just ask Chris about my sandwich shop strop on Saturday) and I tend to do everything at a quarter of the normal speed in an attempt to stay as cool as I can.
Yesterday's train journey home from Cambridge was horrid. I was prepared for the mugginess and general sauna-type conditions of the London Underground and I made sure I had a bottle of water with me before I descended the steps at Kings Cross. But within about five minutes of stepping onto the tube train I got that horrible woozy, sounds-like-you're-in-a-swimming-pool, eyes-have-gone-blobby, just-about-to-faint feeling. I drank my whole bottle of water and got off the train at the next stop for some fresh(er) air. When I eventually got to Paddington I downed another bottle of water and an orange juice and I started to feel a bit better. I got on the train home but the flipping thing overheated and broke down at Reading. So did the passengers. There was a tonne of jostling, hot angry people trying to figure out where they had to go to catch a train to get them to wherever they had to be. Ah, the joy of trains.
(That's not me, that actually is Brian May but my hair was looking something like that.)
Must. Find. Salon. Quick!