Goodness, it's hot. It's actually not that hot, but it's hotter than I expected it to be. It's all in the mind.

This afternoon I popped into the slightly dowdy sandwich shop/bakery on Alexandra Park Road. For many years I was scared of the place - I don't know why. No doubt some childhood memory - but in recent years I go there fairly often. The sandwiches are often stale, but very cheap.

Today the owner was manning the tills, and as we chatted awkwardly about the weather, a British Racing Green sports car pulled up outside.

"Blimey! Look at him," said the owner. "He's the spitting image of Max Mosely."

I looked. Aside from both being middle-aged and white, he didn't look like Max Mosely.

"Yeah, he does look a bit like him," I murmured. "And he's got a nice car. But I doubt Max Mosely hangs around Muswell Hill.

"Poor bloke," he continued. "I bet wherever he goes, people tell him how much he looks like Max Mosely."

He really didn't look like Max Mosely at all.