I stand out on the balcony.

I think to myself that it’s ‘nicely warm’. And then I think that most Italians are complaining about it being too hot. Last night, on my journey home, at the last traffic lights before I park, there is a chemists that has a sign showing the current temperature. It said 31°. It was nearly 7 p.m. I like this. A lot.

Today will be much the same. I guess it’s getting to about 33° or 34° during the day.

Everyone seems to be looking forward to Thursday or Friday when the weather will break.

Our mind plays tricks on us. I seem to remember that, when we first came here, the whole of June and July hovvered around the 30° mark. But this weekend (the beginning of July) it forecasts the low 20s. I secretly hope that the forecast is wrong. Or not so secretly if someone should ask me.

But, is it right that only 6 years ago, the summers were hotter? Or is it just wishful thinking (wishful memories?)?

Obviously, it’s nicer if you’re sat at a bar with a cooling beer or on the beach with the cooling sea to go in to – but we can’t have everything in life. Or, maybe I could if I moved further south