This old Metropolitan Line train at Chesham is nearly ready to go, with its cargo of parched weeds. We’ve properly entered Phil Collins season, with extremely hot temperatures dominating the week. My morning walk from Euston to the City of London is now on hiatus until either (a) it cools down again, or (b) the Tube goes on strike. The train line between Berkhamsted and London couldn’t take the heat; the rails weren’t happy, so I had to use the Metropolitan Line to and from Chesham for a day and a half of the three that I spent in the office. For some reason that I can’t fathom, this week I also had the habit of waking up at exactly 5am each day, checking my watch and then trying to go back to sleep for the hour before my alarm went off. One evening we popped up to see my wife’s parents to check they were doing ok in the heat. Having them five minutes from us makes an emergency ice cream delivery feasible. It’s been lovely to find that their house keeps cucumber-cool in the summer and…
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