I used to love a heatwave. I was the sort of British person who acted like I was in the Mediterranean if the sun was slightly visible, coercing friends to take the outside restaurant table and eagerly working in the garden until my MacBook started to overheat rather than my internal organs. That was until I developed post-viral fatigue from the flu nine years ago.
Now, the heat means suffering rather than pleasure: less energy, more pain and worse breathing. This has only increased as heatwaves across Europe have soared. I have spent this week of record-high May temperatures in the UK largely in bed, with the blinds drawn and two 5ft-high fans looming over me like security guards at a club no one wants to get into.
