It’s 41C. That’s 106F in the old money. You could fry an egg on the pavement outside Hisense Arena except you’d probably burn it.
Hot. And humid. ‘Okay if you’re with a women, not so good at the tennis’, as Robin Williams nearly said in the film Good Morning Vietnam.
Like every sporting event, it’s different when you’re actually there.
As Andy Murray strides on to the Rod Laver Arena, in glorious Melbourne morning sunshine, it’s simply impossible not to feel proud.
And yes, I admit it, patriotic. He’s Oor Boy. And he’s a superstar.
Thanks to a Facebook spoof which portrayed him as Mick Dundee, Andy, now known locally as Crocodile Dunblane, is absolute top drawer. Pure class.
It’s hard to believe – and about as easy to swallow as a Tunnocks Teacake if you’re reading this on a typically Baltic Scottish winter’s day - but it’s a picture perfect high summer here in Australia.
There, that makes you feel much better about the wind and the rain doesn’t it?
Yes indeed, blue skies and searing heat all the way through to April, which potential bush fires and sunstroke aside, still beats the keech out of whatever Ma Nature has in store for Pitlochry, Pittenweem or Partick.
We never had a dog when I was a kid and as for cats, my Mum’s attitude was best summed up by her short yet surprisingly insightful appraisal of the blockbuster Andrew Lloyd Webber musical of the same name.
‘Duff. It wiz aw aboot bloody cats.’
Compared to being in prison it’s all right, I suppose.
At least it’s a holiday and you have an excuse – if you’re the sort of person who needs one – to eat and drink to excess, but it’s still crap, compared to what it used to be like.
Way back when. Auld lang syne. Yeah, I know. I sound like an old bore. What’s worse, people are starting to talk. The jury isn’t even out any more.