We’re not having a heatwave. Yes!

HAVE to confess to another sneaky pleasure here.

This one, like the other, is harmless: it is looking at the soaring summer temperatures in London and giving myself a congratulatory hug that I no longer live there. Last week provided a particular glee as the mercury hit a record 34.5C at Heathrow. Yuk. Imagine travelling on the Tube in plus-30 temperatures. Pounding the pavements. Trying to sleep at night.

Whenever Scotland experiences warm weather there is a noticeable lift in mood. Freed from having a permanent, personal rain cloud over their heads, people smile and saunter, living la vida soleada.

Who are we kidding though? As the song says, there is such a thing as too darn hot. If it was 34.5C here every day for more than three days there would be mass fainting in the streets; the outbreak of sunburn and consequent peeling would lead to mole hills of dead skin everywhere; and as for the strain of maintaining a constantly sunny disposition to match the weather – intolerable. Rubbish Scottish summers, don’t ever change.