Scorchio! As we sizzle in the sun let's cheer this Hot Milf summer

DURING my Mykonos to London City flight this August, I gazed down at the Alps, engrossed in the thought-sequence I use to self-soothe during any turbulence in life as well as air travel.

- Rachel Johnson

I've had peak everything, I tell myself, looking down at the wriggly white cols, the crumpled ranges, the deliquescing glaciers. If my plane goes down today, no hard feelings, God. I've been hashtag blessed, big time.

I've had peak education (top London girls' day school, then I was actually paid to go to university). I had peak journalism (first job, graduate trainee on the Financial Times), peak publishing (I sold the rights to my first novel, Notting Hell, for silly money), peak broadcasting (BBC, now LBC), plus peak travel with cheap flig and cheap oil...

I know this is irritating and sounds boastful-sorry, I am coming to the boil soon.

My husband counters all this by saying yes, but he had peak music as the Beatles and Stones were his era, not mine, and he was there at the Isle of Wight in 1970 to see Jimi Hendrix, Miles Davis, the Doors, Leonard Cohen, but still. Overall I win and now, guess what? I have surfed the zeitgeist of outrageous fortune yet again because if you hadn't already noticed, Baby, It's Hot Outside and this time the fires are being fanned by women my vintage.