30 Degrees and rising

For once fiction and real life coincide. Usually, I find myself writing about floods and rain when it's dry, but at the moment my characters are trying to cope with the sweaty heat of tropical swamps. Finding the right descriptions should be easier, if I don't melt first. Not that I'm in a tropical swamp, but it's the nearest to it that an unkempt English garden is likely to get. Time to break out the macheté–er, shears, and cut the hedge, I think.