Summer has arrived early in London, and as I write, Tony's got his head out of the only window in the flat, and is looking at the pretty women passing by in the street below.
He's planning a trip to the park later, to see just what's on offer in the line of twenty year old female tourists, and to see if he can sweet talk any of them in going to the pub with us tonight, for a few drinks and perhaps a little bit of rough sex after in the comfort of our stinking but homely flat.
Of course, he hasn't got much hope, because being as fat as he is, he tends to sweat heavily when ever it's hot, and most women find the sight of him dripping in sweat a bit of a turn off. He just says that the ladies don't know what they're missing, and if they're looking for some action with a real man, then it's only men like him who can fit the bill.
Personally, I'll be going to the pub very soon, because the sudden rise in temperature has left me feeling very thirsty.
Tony reckons that a regular intake of cold, strong lager is the only way to stay cool and avoid dehydration in hot weather, and that if his trip to the park is a waste of time, he'll be joining me at the pub sooner rather than later.
He's now just dousing himself in cheap aftershave before setting off on his scouting mission, and I'm just off to the pub for ten pints of strong lager, if I'm to avoid dying of thirst.