It's 6.30 pm on a Friday evening, and I'm so hot, I'm struggling to breathe. Thick heat has been pooling around my shoulders from the moment I sat down. Perhaps not surprising, given the UK's ongoing heatwave—but this heat hits different.
Sweat drips down my stomach as I focus on my breathing. Desperate for distraction, I try counting the panels on the wall. I fail, and instead find myself watching heatwaves rippling through the air. The smell of timber and warm pine fills my nostrils. My necklace burns against my skin. And then a man in a pointed wool hat asks the love-hate question: "Shall I pour some water over the coals?"
