It’s hot. It’s fucking hot. I’m sat typing, my fingertips are slipping on the bevelled plastic keys. I’m squinting through my eyelashes, they offer minimal barrier from the piercing sun. I’m loathed to draw the curtains, because, sweltering days like this seem to be few and far between this summer. I feel like ‘Gal’ Dove in Sexy Beast:
“Oh, yeah. Blood…