In a scene that looks like a Géricault painting had a lovechild with a municipal swimming pool, the city of Paris has declared a red alert as temperatures soared to the kind of numbers that make thermometers blush. Thousands of Parisians, in a display of Gallic defiance that would make Napoleon weep with pride, have taken to the Canal de l'Ourcq, plunging into its murky depths like so many baguettes being tossed into the soup of desperation. Meanwhile, the UK, a country that reacts to heatwaves with the same panic as a nun in a brothel, has set a new benchmark for absurdity: the government has advised citizens to 'close curtains during the day' and 'avoid excessive alcohol'.
Because nothing cools the blood like a gin and tonic, but the British government disagrees. I propose a new Olympic sport: British Heatwave Response. The rules are simple.
Must include at least one 'stay hydrated' tweet from a cabinet minister who is currently on holiday. Must involve panic-buying of all portable fans and ice lollies by 10am. And the grand finale: a national rail service that melts into a puddle of excuses before noon.
The French, meanwhile, are simply sharing the canals with the tourists and the occasional bicycle that fell in. It's a beautiful chaos. It reminds me that we are all just animals, but some of us carry handbooks.
As the mercury rises, I raise a glass of lukewarm tap water. To Paris, for showing us that when the heat is on, you can either despair or dive. And to the UK government, for reminding us that bureaucracy can be the least effective sunblock known to man.
