Thursday

Tonight is the launch of the Moomins Cookbook - a Finnish cartoon-inspired recipe book published by one of our clients - at the Books for Cooks bookshop in Notting Hill. The day's been overcast and reasonably cool up until it's just about time to leave work, but around 5 the cloud clears and the sun shows it's spiteful face - causing the temperature to seemingly jump by about ten degrees. I head home to grab a quick bite and head back to the tube. Crossing London from North to West at rush hour is a headache at the best of times, but this evening I find myself on the Central Line at 6pm absolutely pouring sweat and grinding my teeth. The packed tube seems to grind its way through a fug of underground heat the short distance to Notting Hill Gate, and by the time I emerge into the still oppressive heat of West London's swankiest little market district, I'm in no mood to stand in a tiny bookshop sipping red wine.

I walk down Portobello Road listening to DOOM (not the subtlest music to chill oneself out to) and arrive at the shop before most other people I know. I squeeze in, past the person in the giant Moomin costume - and Christ, how hot must he have been! - and grab a refreshing bottle of Lapland beer from the publisher, with whom I say a nice hello. It's too much to stand in the shop for long, though, and after mopping my brow with a Moomin-branded napkin I take refuge outside. A few others from work show up and we have fun chatting about the book and eating some sample Finnish delicacies. Most of them involve fish, of which I'm not much of a fan, but I partake of the strange cheese-on-toast-with-nuts thing and sup a couple more Nordic lagers.

After a few fun photo ops with the Moomin and watching the passing Notting Hill-types come up to say hello too, Georgie, Jess and I make our excuses and nip for a quick pint around the corner. As I mentioned last week, we don't get a lot of time to do this - so it's good to sit down outside of the office and chat about things other than work. Both of them are cycling back to East London, so I let them get away after a drink and trek back up to Notting Hill Gate tube. I'm acutely aware of my sweaty, dishevelled state by this point, and look forward to getting home and maybe even changing my t-shirt.

When I get home, K is in the living room drinking wine with Faye - so I grab a leftover beer out of the fridge and join them for a natter, continuing to swelter all the while. I love the summer, but this heat is just no fun in the concrete and tunnel-based heat retention system that is London.