Outside it’s 104 degrees Fahrenheit, 40 Celsius. Inside, it’s 65F/18C. There is something about this false cold that comforts me. Is it simply the familiarity? Rarely does one find indoor places so cool during English summers, even though the climate has permanently changed to have summers full of heat waves. I wonder if it’s a heat wave if it’s constant, or if by calling them that, there is some attempt to hold on to the notion that this might pass, that some old England of mild winters and mild summers will return. So much of what we speak is our attempt to make our fantasies real.
