Mad Dogs & Englishmen...

Does anyone know where I can come by a Pith-Helmet?

The only way I can keep some semblance of sanity in this ridiculously un-English heatwave we're having is to imagine myself sitting atop a great horse, resplendent in red tunic, Henri-Martini tucked under my arm, surveying some desolate sun-baked hell-hole we have recently conquered, (having first sent in the Scots to terrify the natives of course).

They are the only circumstances in which an Englishman should have to tolerate such distinctly colonial weather.

Anyone wishing to join me for tiffin on the veranda later please RSVP to my char-wallah.