Tomorrow it's going to be 40° C in the Auvergne. While the rest of Europe will be hiding in the coldest darkest corners of their houses only coming out in the evening when the garden furniture has stopped melting, we intend to take on the heat full in the face. Rose likes to call it 'aggressive tanning'. We do it because we are British and the sun is to the British as bad career choices are to Rebecca Loos.
I will put my speedos on, cover myself in goose fat and lay on the outside table humming hymns from my childhood.
By the end of tomorrow, if all has gone to plan, I should be looking something like this: