It's not every day you find yourself at the centre of an international crisis news story.Mind you, I only discovered I was after looking up at the telly at my hotel pool bar in Ibiza and seeing Europe was ablaze!
The news presenter back in dreary old London had a deadly serious look on her face as she described the 'fears' over 'dangerous' temperatures sweeping the continent.
I looked around the pool to see how scared everyone was... Thankfully, no one appeared to be running around with their hair on fire.
In fact, apart from a rotund Welshman on the row of sunbeds in front of me belching after his third lager of the morning and the crickets doing whatever the hell it is they do to make that noise; all was serene.
You see, despite the fears over global warming most Brits just want to be given a break.Or at least have one...in peace.
It's a secret we all keep to ourselves lest society would collapse, but we all know there are only two things in life actually worth living for.
They are Christmas, and your two-week summer holiday.
I can just about tolerate the rest of the year as long as I get these two.
But the way the political and media panickers would have it we wouldn't be allowed abroad, flying on our carbon pumping planes to a baking hot corner of Europe with a temperature symbolised on new TV weather maps by a terrifyingly bright purple that screams "We're all gonna die!"
After years of political buffoonery leaving society fraying at the edges, us Brits need our summer holidays more than ever.
And judging by the ones I'm on holiday with they will take some convincing to give them up - whatever the temperature.
There are no better simple joys in life than arriving in an eerily lit foreign hotel reception after a day's travel and being welcomed into your two-week all-inclusive gluttony via your coloured wristband.
We all know it comes with mysterious mind-bending powers that last only for that two-week period, particularly appearing to leave wearers thinking they are immune to the effect of drinking Aperol Spritz for eight hours a day.
And we won't give up that power, and the joy the rest of our foreign holiday gives, lightly.
Where else could we start the day trying to eat four different types of egg from the buffet while tutting at foreign diners having sliced cold meat for breakfast... simply barbaric!
Where else could we sit and laugh at Grandad being told off by Grandma for sitting suspiciously close to the topless German ladies at the beach?
Where else could we be amused and entertained with the company of the bright red Geordie family - there's always one wherever you go - seemingly able to sustain their constant good humour and chatter on a diet of beer, cheese and onion Pringles and mini-Oreos?
Though I'm personally socially inept and mainly hide under my bucket hat, the comings and goings around the hotel pool are as good to watch as any soap.
People bond, people fall in love, people fall out, people secretly slag off other people's Ill-advised tattoos (a growing trend among British travellers this year by the looks of things.)
This year I can also report the return to trend of the skimpy male thong - giving the resort the look on some days of a budgie smuggler convention. It won't be long though until the tut-tutting classes will try and ban us from holidays altogether.
But if it comes to the crunch, I think I know that the sun-creamed-up army of British holidaymakers would fight them off.
In fact, I'd really like to see the Just Stop Oilers try to link arms and blockade the front of the all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant.
They wouldn't last five minutes... particularly if it was Tex-Mex night.
So, as I sit back on my lounger typing this with one of my bright red arms, I hope you too will join the resistance and not bow to the 'red-hot panic people' trying to ruin our yearly fun.
And if they do come for me, they'll have to prize my cold, dead hands off the sun lounger - that is if I'd got to the pool early enough to put down the towels.