It was boiling hot.
The air was nearly glowing.
I liked it better when it was windy and raining. I could lie in my room then and watch films or read and sleep without feeling guilty about it. The sun was so unsparing. You were meant to be out in it, meant to be out with friends, meant to be having a good time. If I lay in my room then, there’d be something the matter with me, I’d be letting myself down, even though I’d be doing exactly the same thing, and even though my life was my own.