18/07/2013 13:26 BST | Updated 17/09/2013 06:12 BST

Who's Having Hot Sex?


As the scorching UK heatwave turns Facebook, Twitter and all other known social media into one big sweaty groan of status updates, I wonder - who's having sex in this heat?

The nation's grinding must surely have, er, ground to a halt.

Think of all those films set in New Orleans - steamy, sultry nights with lovers throwing each other into bed, white sheets clinging to their elegantly perspiring torsos as they writhe in each other's arms.

Balls to that.

Anyone who wants to go in for a spot of bedroom athletics in this heat is yelling out for a heart attack.

Who wants to touch or be touched, when simply turning your head to look at the object of your affection results in half a pint of sweat cascading from your shiny face?

Going to bed is an absolutely repulsive thought - even just to attempt sleep.

Sitting up late into the night, panting in just my pants, I'm sure the lady in my bed is more than happy that I feel this way.

Forget the films, we all know a heavy, clammy leg and sheets wringing wet with sweat are not the heights of erotic ecstasy Hollywood suggests.

Ok, I know you're thinking that the same must surely apply for a holiday romance - when so many of us manage a romp under some blazing, foreign sun.

But it's appropriate over there, returning from a day at the beach, dousing your body in sun lotion and going back to the chalet with Alejandra/Alejandro, drunk on exotic cocktails and ears still deafened by Euro club tunes.

The same doesn't apply back home.

Walking up your melted tarmac high street after a day of arguing with Norma in accounts about the broken air conditioning, doesn't set the scene well.

Watching some dreary TV as your cheeks begin to itch thanks to the couch's normally snug material, no Tesco's half-price Chianti or room temperature Beck's will make you want to tear off your clothes and pounce upon your other half.

If nothing else, the news that Nick Clegg gets his moist feet out to pad around the office should kill any remaining ardour you have left in you.

Or is it just me?

Am I wrong in my assumption that the UK is experiencing an all-time lull in love-making thanks to the scorching heat?

If so, I've gone out on a very embarrassing limb - a sweaty one too.