Contrary to popular stereotype, an August spent whiling away one's normal existence is a great and unlooked-for joy. For this month alone, a carnival atmosphere prevails. An end-of-term feeling pervades even the stiffest workplace and toil is maintained at the barest of minimums.
Apart, that is, from the vexed issue of keeping cool, by which I mean not actively passing out. The Londoner's heart fills with doom the moment notices appear exhorting passengers not to take animals on the Underground, Britons being notoriously kinder to other mammals than themselves.
Continentals handle searing weather with style, having to deal with it for a greater proportion of the year. For the 10 days or so in which one can venture out without a greatcoat here, we opt either for tawdry displays of demi-nudity, or a head-in-sand policy in the hope that the whole bally thing will go away. The other (31C) day, I sat next to a woman swaddled in a straining pencil skirt, 70-denier stockings, suede boots, stiff shirt and hefty wool jacket. The swelter she exuded was enough to have me reaching for the sal volatile. What's a hot child in the city to do?
More than ever, fabric is your friend. Cotton, most obviously, silk, even one of the ritzier polyesters will create the lightness of touch required.
Posted in: Kate Moss,Whistles
