London When it Sizzles

London, it’s not me, it’s you. You’re just not designed for this sudden influx of heat. I love the heat, I have spent time in deserts, jungles, even huddled next to livestock on a South American pickup truck for six hours (true story), but when the morning rays of sun burst through my curtainless window onto my less than cooperative face, my heart that should be filled with joys of summer, sinks.

You must understand that prior to my move to London last summer, one of the hottest in a long time (apologies for the lack of more definite meteorological statistics), I had lived in Edinburgh where heat was a joy. It was hard enough learning the ropes and making new friends in the big bad city but the transition was not eased by my perpetually flushed demeanour.

My summer welcome to London was not so much a baptism of fire as a baptism of clamminess and dehydration. I tried, sweatily, to navigate my way around the city, trying to remember where I lived and worked while adhering to the posters on the underground reminding us to ‘stay cool’. How the hell can I stay cool when this fool won’t open the damn window?!

A year later, the summer rage has subsided; I know where I live and my upgrade to seasoned commuter has prepared me for a summer existence in the city. Having perfected the art of platform positioning I bag a spot by the window in the hopes of catching some of that illusive breeze. In fact, from my more ventilated and hydrated position, I have been able to notice my favourite ‘tube community phenomenon’- the seasonal undressing of strangers.

It’s hard to ignore the increasingly naked presence in the streets and parks of London, but since I seem to spend the majority of my time underground or in an office without windows, my attention has turned to my fellow commuters. I often find myself sharing these journeys with the same people and I like to think they notice me (window junkie) and that a lovely unspoken relationship has developed throughout the year.

However, since the sun has appeared, I realise this silent friendship has taken a more intimate turn…I know what my travel companions read, what they like to eat for an early morning snack, where they get off for work, and now, creepy creepster that I am, I know what their legs look like.

Woollen coats have been cast aside, tights abandoned and shirt buttons undone and we have been gifted with a legitimate reason to wear sunglasses on the tube. The summer underground fashions demonstrate the undoubted resilience and adaptability of the London people.

For me, nothing says ‘hey, thank you for your kind thoughts, London Underground posters, I am staying cool’ than a man in a rolled-up suit and flip flops.

Image by Milestoned courtesy of Flickr