Tornado warning over Manhattan, July 2010, by RM

This weekend, an epidemic of insomnia swept through the city. OK, so I can’t actually prove that, but in the highly unscientific survey I have conducted of the literal handful of people I’ve spoken to since Saturday, there are maybe four who, like me, have repeatedly woken up drenched in sweat every night since Thursday.

Tonight I finally realised the reason, and I’m at least 85 per cent sure it’s not the onset of early menopause: the Humidity has arrived.

This is my third summer here, and each one of them, there’s been one weekend (and I swear, it’s always a weekend, God knows why) when the New York summer begins. This is signified not just by the hot weather, but by a seductively tropical scent in the air. It’s the smell of storms that may or may not quite release into thunder and lightening. And then there’s the day at some point in the autumn when it’s as if your lover in the en suite has finally turned off the shower and cracked open a window. This year it seems to have come earlier, just like the winter did.

Maybe this means I can finally put the Canada Goose away. Maybe I shouldn’t count my chickens, or rather, geese.

UPDATE: Yup. Spoke too soon.

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