The worst thing about hot weather? Being told the bleeding obvious…

Ooh, I say, isn’t it hot? Scorchio, in fact. We’re not complaining, obviously, because that might sound ungrateful and, as it’s courtesy of an African plume, possibly racist. But nor are we constitutionally suited to broiling heat and blazing sun in these sceptred isles. That’s what abroad is for.

Even the most diehard Remainer would surely feel a little less anxious about leaving Europe if we get to keep the weather, which is the best bit. That and the wine. And the culture. And the skinny cats keeping the children amused at outdoor restaurants while we linger for hours over frutti di mare, imported from Cornwall.

But mostly it’s the climate that we have historically envied. And now, after last year’s heatwave, we find ourselves yet again in the parched throes of a searing summer (a salutary reminder to be careful what one wishes for).

We must all learn to adapt our buildings and houses and habits, especially as it’s predicted that London will be as sweltering as Barcelona in three decades, due to global warming.

Here in 2019, however, a lot of us are feeling mightily hot and bothered – not by the weather, but by the bleeding obvious advice on how to cope with it. Are we really such overgrown babies that we need to be exhorted to wear light clothing and stay hydrated?

It was not so very long ago that we laughed uproariously about packs of nuts bearing the prim warning “May contain nuts” and takeaway coffee cup lids stamped: “Caution: contents hot”. Now we are expected to listen reverently to revelatory advice such as “Stay out of the sun”, “Carry a bottle of water” and “Take the woollen socks off ” (obviously the Scots are exempt from this one).

Infantilising doesn’t begin to describe NHS

suggestions that we splash our faces with cold water and wear sunglasses outdoors. Ditch the duvet? Who’da thunk it?

In my book, there are only three hot weather hacks. The first is to go back to basics and carry a fan in your handbag – they are fantastic (sorry) and amazingly efficient. If you have a spare one, take that, too; in the overheated crush of public transport, you could probably swap it for a kidney or, better still, a seat.

Next, forget the milky drink and the light cotton sheet. The only way to nod off at night is to soak a towel in cold water and wrap it round your feet; this top tip comes courtesy of my sister, who lives in the Caribbean.

Ironically, she only uses this trick when she comes back to Britain in summer, where our homes are woefully ill-equipped for ultra-weather events. Back in Barbados, there’s no need.

Finally, follow the aircontrail (gettit? A contrail is that white line of condensed water left in the sky in the wake of an aircraft). Museums, churches and supermarket chiller cabinets are predictably cool. Visit them. A lot. Plead for a lock-in if you can.

Last year I found myself in Croatia, where the medieval fortified city of Dubrovnik was so scorching that my internal thermostat exploded. While my husband walked the 13thcentury walls, I spent about four hours loitering in the Captain Candy sweet store because it had sub-zero aircon, presumably to stop the jelly mega-spiders and foot-wide fried eggs from liquidising due to the soaring mercury.

What can I say? Some like it hot. Some prefer it tepid. It’s not just the channel that separates us from Europe. To order prints or signed copies of any Telegraph cartoon, go to telegraph.co.uk/prints-cartoons or call 0191 603 0178  readerprints@telegraph.co.uk