We’ve broiled in the heat now for weeks, radiant blue skies, cars turned ovens, paving stones searing fire pits under foot. My constitution has been mightily challenged, exuding water by the bucket load, too enervated to lift a finger even to pour a gin and tonic. Yet some very thin cyclists have been charging up and down mountains in France now for several weeks and not to enjoy the view. How do they do it? Going to make myself a cup of tea and watch the final stage.
"Oh no! Even the fridge is struggling and the milk is off!"