Flames of outrage, no, wait, flames of actual heat. Paris has been declared ‘punishingly hot’ by meteorological officials who have clearly been taking lessons from the Department of Obvious Statements. The mercury has soared to such dizzying heights that baguettes are said to be pre-baking on the pavement and the Seine has started offering lukewarm sauna sessions at no extra charge.
British travellers, those hardy souls accustomed to drizzle and disappointment, are now being urged to take precautions. This is the same demographic that considers a heatwave to be anything above 25 degrees and a national emergency if the ice cream man runs out of flakes. The Foreign Office has issued a statement warning of ‘extreme temperatures’ and advising tourists to drink plenty of water, apply factor 50 sun cream, and avoid attempting to roast a pigeon by staring at it intently. These are the people who brought us the phrase ‘the wrong kind of snow on the railway lines.’
The French authorities, in a state of profound existential crisis, have opened cooling centres and deployed misting stations. Locals, however, are said to be in a state of simmering discontent, having to share their pavement with sweaty Brits who keep asking for ‘full English breakfast’ despite being in the culinary capital of the world. One Parisian was heard muttering, ‘Ce n’est pas juste, même la canicule est plus élégante chez nous.’ Translator’s note: They are very angry about the heat, but at least they look good suffering.
But let us not forget the real story here: the British media’s obsession with weather-as-apocalypse. The Daily Mail has already run a headline: ‘Meltdown in Paris: Rosbifs Roasted in Unprecedented Inferno.’ The Sun has a photo of a melting Eiffel Tower with the caption: ‘Oui, it’s hot.’ And the BBC has dispatched a reporter to stand in front of the Louvre, saying, ‘It’s quite warm here,’ while sweating through a tweed jacket.
Meanwhile, the scientific community points out that this is climate change, not just a sunny day. But scientists are boring, and we prefer to panic in style. So, dear British traveller, pack your linen suits, your straw hats, your tiny electric fans, and your sense of mild discomfort. Prepare to queue for a baguette in the heat. Remember: the heat is punishing, but the queuing is relentless. And above all, do not let the French see you sweat. It is simply not ‘comme il faut.’
Stay cool, stay hydrated, and for the love of all that is holy, stop telling the French how to make croissants. They already have enough on their plates, including baguettes that are baking themselves.
