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We're Melting!

Yes, it is, once again, hot in London. What??? We forgot this happened. Somewhere amidst our whining about long, wet, miserable winter we forgot that we also hate hot weather. Hate. It.

This is primarily because we are so woefully unprepared for it. As I sit melting at my keyboard, various internet weather sites assure me that it is a whopping 31C in London right now. That's about a million degrees Fahrenheit. Fine, so it's only 88F. But it feels much hotter because it's muggy and my best defense against the sun and heat has been to keep my windows closed and shades down all day.

Yes, this does make me feel like I'm wasting what is obviously the nicest day of the year. And yes, I will no doubt hate myself for doing this some dark January day when I haven't seen sunshine in months.

But we don't have air conditioning. No one does. Well, my gym claims it does, but I don't buy it. The women who teach the exercise classes there are amazing. Nothing fazes them. Nothing slows them down. Except the heat today. Even in the basement studio with air conditioning, my Mexican and Kiwi teachers were struggling. Not like we were struggling, of course, but just a little bit.

Regular blog readers will know that London did not cope well with last year's heatwave. From ice cream shortages to spontaneous combustion, the city basically shut down. Here is the first "It's to hot for..." of 2014.

It's too hot for the doors at the gym.

That's right. I got locked in the ladies' changing room today because of the heat. I was pulling and pulling the door but no dice. This was, of course, after my 45 minutes dying in the hot studio. I was on the verge of shouting for help when I finally wrenched it open and stumbled into the hallway. Outside, the two main fitness instructors were laughing their heads off at me.

"Sinéad! What are you doing to the door?"

"I was locked in! What didn't you help me?"

They laughed again, shrugged. "We didn't know you were stuck. Maybe you should work on that aggression, though."

They didn't seem concerned about my time in confinement so I mentioned it to the woman at reception on my way out.

"Just so you know, the first door to the ladies' changing room got stuck on me just now. It was really hard to open."

She lifted her eyes to me as though the lids weighed a tonne each.

I smiled. "I'm fine, obviously, but some of the older women and children will definitely not be able to get out."

"That's just the heat."

"Maybe you could prop it open?"

"The door gets stuck in the heat." She put her head back down, presumably in to a vat of iced water.

No thought to solving the problem. No thought that there might even be a solution that people, who live in countries where the population doesn't grind to a halt for 31C weather, have thought of. It's like Londoners feel that they have no recourse to heat.

And to be fair, we don't. Not really. I hear it's too hot for ice cream.