As we battle public transport, tents and bunting, the hottest day of the year turns into one of life’s happiest An earlier, more miserable, version of this column started by saying that my son’s birthday fell on the hottest day of the year. This is true, and, in many ways, provided for a decidedly suboptimal experience. In our infinite wisdom, we’d planned to have a party in a park that was near enough to our house to be walkable but which, in 34C heat, was now becoming a slightly daunting trip. None of this was helped by all the stuff we carried, me with two huge bags-for-life filled with toys and party bits, while my wife, her father and sister, hauled blankets, treats and the cheapest gazebo we could find. We looked for all the world as if we’d just dismounted some battered old donkeys bearing pots and pans by their sides.
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