As the sun set, the air-con at my uncle’s place in Australia broke, turning it into a house of horrors. Never have I missed Manchester so much
In 2014, I returned to my place of birth in Melbourne, Australia, to visit family. The 32-hour slog to the other side of the globe was uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared with what awaited me on the ground.
One night, the uncle with whom I was staying went to Tasmania to visit friends. Suddenly, place transformed into a horror house. It was about 9pm, the sun was leaving the horizon and the lawn, which had been baked into straw, was getting a much-needed reprieve. Sweat had welded my polyester shirt so tightly to my back that it almost took my spine with it when I finally managed to peel it off.
