Climbing out of his air-conditioned van in the carpark had seemed like stepping into the proverbial oven. He felt the heat from the pavement rising through his grey socks and sandals. Across the road, the sign hung still in the torrid air.
“What can I do for you sir?” she asked.
“Pint of lager and a bacon butty, please love” he replied; “but go easy on the Tabasco.”