eather is a constant conversational subject if you live in the United Kingdom. Too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry—there’s always something to talk about when there’s nothing else to say. But this May is different, yet becoming all too regular.We are in the grip of a record-breaking heatwave that is rewriting the history books. For over eighty years, the highest temperature ever recorded in May stood at 32.8°C. Bank Holiday Monday obliterated that, hitting 34.8°C at Kew Gardens, only to be completely usurped the very next day.
I was working on that Tuesday, and it was incredibly uncomfortable and sweaty. While the Met Office was clocking a staggering new all-time May record of 35.1°C, I was dealing with a building that is notoriously hot in the summer and freezing in the winter. Even the night before had offered no relief, tracking the warmest May night the UK has ever seen.
Sadly, this heatwave has also brought a stark reminder of the hidden dangers of the British summer, claiming the lives of several young people across the country—including one right here in South Yorkshire. Open water has a deadly draw when the mercury rises, and tragically, it is often the young who fall victim to its hidden currents and sudden, freezing depths.
Learning that emergency services had been called to a fatal incident at Rother Valley Country Park this week stirred up a distant memory from my own school days in Killamarsh. I vividly remember being told the sobering news that someone had died swimming in the flooded remains of the Shand open-cast mine. That treacherous, water-filled crater was the industrial precursor to Rother Valley, long before it was landscaped into the country park it is today. It seems that no matter how much time passes, the perilous temptation of these waters remains exactly the same.
At the end of my shift, I was prepped for a hot, sticky ride home on my bike when Thor spoke. Thunder cracked above me, accompanied by a sudden, heavy downpour. I set off surrounded by the booms and flashes, but just a mile down the road, it was gone. The tarmac was bone dry, and it was as if the storm had never happened.
Later in the week, I was back out on my bike, cycling along the canal towpath between Meadowhall and Rotherham—a route made all the better by the glorious sunshine. Unfortunately, the reality of the earlier tragedy hit home when I observed a number of children playing on Jordans Dam Weir, where the canal briefly meets the River Don. They were completely ignoring the stark warnings currently flooding the media about the perils of open water. It is frustrating to witness, but it shows just how difficult it is to break the lure of the water on a hot day.
As the week progressed, the weather finally cooled to a much more tolerable level, though the temperatures still remained high for the time of year. I'm not sure what the long-term outlook holds for the coming weeks, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we get a nice, dry spell for our upcoming trip to Wales.
The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. 
You can read the latest chapter here:
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𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗.
ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ, ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀʟᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴜꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ʟɪᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴅᴇʙᴀᴛᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘ ᴍɪɴᴅ.
ʙᴜᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀꜱ: ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ʀᴜᴅᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴀᴍ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛʟʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇɴꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪɢɴᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.
ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴀ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ — ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴛ ɴᴏᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɴᴄʜᴇꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ.
ɴᴏᴡ, ᴡᴀʀᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ.