The weather on Wednesday night was fecking horrible!

I can honestly say that in the 38 years I have been on this planet, I have never lost so much sleep due to the heat.

At one point, Claire – equally as overheated as me – gave up and went downstairs to our front room. The temperature on the ground floor was probably in the high twenties, but apparently felt blissfully cool compared to the furnace of the bedroom. It must have been, as she managed to get herself two hours kip, on our old, uncomfortable sofa (more about the sofa on a future blog).

Since then, we’ve only experienced small patches of rain. Despite the BBC continuing to promise thunder and lightning, there hasn’t been any. They’re liars.

The temperatures are dropping in the house, which I suppose is all we can ask for. Actually, no! I was promised a massive thunderstorm – where’s my massive thunderstorm?

I asked for a storm. This is what I got.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.

The thunder and lightning was very brief, and while the rain sounded heavy, I don’t think it lasted long.

If I was to grade the “storm” like a school teacher would mark their pupils’ work, it would have to be a D for attainment, with a C- for effort. Lots of room for improvement, but thank you for turning up to class.

The temperature in the bedroom hasn’t been reduced since the rain. In fact, it recorded a new record this evening – 30.4C. Eugh.

The digital mercury has since risen to 30.5C, but Claire and I were both too tired and overheated to take another photo. Double eugh.

Incidentally, 30.5 is the amount of minutes in which I think I’ll be able to sleep tonight…

Those at BBC Weather are liars. Here’s proof.

They promise you the earth, and then they break your heart.

WHERE’S MY THUNDER STORM?