When the heat finally hits, it erases everything. It wipes away the past, it cares nothing for the future. All it does is simmers in the daylight and breathes in the nightfall. When it finally breaks, you forget its unrelenting grip as soon as its gone. As if you did not seek shade in the afternoon flare, or toss and turn in the velvet small hours of the morning. Only those of us who live in the Northern hemisphere romanticise our few sultry days of summer. And when autumn becomes the fall, we pray for a few more hot spells before winter takes over our lives. So, this autumn when life turns very black and grey, I will remember a gentle breeze over Waterloo Bridge and a city that reflected technicolour in its Olympic haze. And people smiled. Those of you who have not lived in London, may not realize how rare that can be. In my mind, this summer sounds like Melody Gardot’s “Mira”, dripping in honey and caipirinha’s, swaying to the bossa nova rhythm of heatwave afternoons. If only for a few precious days this year.