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170. Heat Wave: 24th, 25th, 26th June 2026
Wednesday, Saint John’s Day, there was knocking at the door that dragged me sleep deprived from my sweat-soaked bed. It was one of the building’s staff and she was there to inform me they had a break in the main pipe. There was no water for any of the apartments. She could give me no estimate for when it would be repaired. Jeezus, no water on the day celebrating Saint John the Baptist’s birth.
The temperature would peak that Wednesday at 33.3C° (91.94F°). I got dressed, a loose white shirt over a T-shirt. Twice that day I would be asked why I was wearing the shirt. Twice I was obliged to admit I am ashamed of my appearance, that I am fat and the shirt is meant to make it less obvious.
After dressing, I dragged myself to the local John Lewis department store where I had access to the restroom and running water. Following that, I could see no reason to return right away to the flat. I reside on the top floor. For days the building has been absorbing heat. That heat rises to be caught beneath my ceiling.
There are things I can do to reduce the heat in my flat. I can keep the drapes closed and the sunshine out. When the sun has moved beyond the window frame, I can open all the windows that face southeast and the front door in the northwest. By this means, I have a breeze passing through the rooms. It isn’t much of a difference, but it is a difference. The day will come when climate change will force the Brits to employ screens in their windows. Eventually, some very annoying insects will migrate to this island. Also, air-conditioning will grow more commonplace.
It was air-conditioning I sought next. In the late 1920s, air-conditioning was introduced to the movie houses of Manhattan. They famously announced this feature on the theater’s marquees. There was little point in returning to my flat to endure the afternoon heat, so I took myself to the local Cineworld to see a movie – an air-conditioned movie.
There was nothing presently in the theaters that I wanted to see. Pulling out my smartphone, I checked the IMDb database to see which of my choices had the highest rating. That is the only reason I watched Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu. The movie disappointed me and the theater’s air-conditioning was not fully operational. The theater staff apologized to me. Thank whichever appropriate gods, the water had been restored when I got home.
It was an impossible night. The temperature dropped to a mere 23.5°C (74.3F°), the highest June minimum temperature ever recorded in Wales and the UK. What little sleep I managed was for a brief spell after I had immersed myself in a bathtub of tepid water to lower my body temperature. Then I would climb into bed still damp and feel cooler as it evaporated.
Thursday was the killer. The temperatures reached 36.6C° (97.88F°), the hottest June day in this country’s history. Turning on the cold-water faucet, the water came out of the spout warm from the pipes. In a short time, the elastic in my underwear began to chafe. Trying to write a letter or a first draft of this essay, I sweated. The fountain pen gushed. My damp skin smeared the ink. Beads tumbled from my forehead and dissolved a few characters. I could have switched to a ballpoint or a keyboard, but the brain was muggy and uncooperative. How can anyone be creative in such heat?
I had an appointment with the endocrinologist at the hospital on Thursday. There have been several text messages and even a phone call from the hospital informing me, “due to the extreme heat expected that day we are offering telephone appointments to those that do not wish to attend. NO ACTION is needed by yourself, we will call all patients that do not attend at the time of their appointments.” But I did go, and ended up in a taxi where the foreign driver, having come from a hot climate, didn’t bother with the air-conditioning.
Nor does the hospital have air-conditioning. Everywhere are fans. In the States, I have never been to a hospital without air-conditioning.
The appointment went well. The doctor and I shook hands. My prolactin levels are good. I am on a prescription of Cabergoline to treat a pituitary tumor (prolactinoma) and the decision is to not risk surgery. I am to continue on the medication for the rest of my life and the doctor will see me in another year. But I have another reason for making the effort to get to the hospital.
I have a friend who was admitted to the hospital the day before, following several inexplicable falls where his legs simply gave out. Old age and illness are gaining on him, a lifetime smoker. He was lying on the hospital bed fully dressed, his shoes still on, ready to make his escape at the first chance. I reminded him that if he dies, I am going to write an essay about how he rescued me and brought me to a better life in Cardiff, Wales. He is humble and while he lives, he says he won’t have it, but if he dies, he can’t stop me. That was my threat and he laughed.
It is Friday and there has been a break in the weather. A thunderstorm came through this morning. Today the temperature peaked at 26C° (78.8F°) and it is easier to think, to write, to create.
The last two days have been too hot for coffee. Did they miss me at Starbucks? I was there this afternoon. Joe, who works at Starbucks, tells me the air-conditioning was not working properly at this Starbucks, but all the others are properly cold. He then asked me what my next essay would be about and I told him the heatwave.
Mr Bentzman will continue to report here regularly about
the events and concerns of his life. If you've any
comments or suggestions, he would be pleased to hear from you.
You can find his
several books at www.Bentzman.com.
Enshrined
Inside Me, his second collection of
essays, is now available to purchase.
