Last week, I was complaining about the heat. You know that sticky, soupy, skin-peeling heat where you can’t tell if you’re sweating or melting—or both? I was waving a fan around like some kind of desperate windmill, praying for a breeze. I knew I’d regret moaning about it. I knew the second I opened my mouth and said, “It’s too hot,” I was setting myself up, and not just me, I’m sure everyone was saying the same thing And yet, here we are.

Today? I’m sat by the window like a Victorian ghost, watching the rain lash against the glass. Not just a little drizzle, either. There’s a full-blown summer storm throwing a tantrum outside—lightning, thunder, sideways rain, the lot. And the weirdest part? The wind is warm. The rain is warm. It’s like the weather can’t decide if it’s on holiday or having a breakdown.

The emotions outside and matching the emotions in my head at this point.

I swear, if I really wanted to, I could go outside and have a perfectly adequate garden shower. I’m not going to—I’ve got some dignity left—but that’s not the point. The point is, I could.

So, there’s no long walk today. No dramatic coastal views. No wind-in-my-hair, soul-cleansing hike. Just me, in my living room, watching YouTube videos of other people walking their walk while I sit here in my dressing gown, dry but deeply jealous.

Still… I’m looking on the Brightside, at least my snacks aren’t soggy. .