This is the first chapter from Royal Flush by Rhys Bowen. I must admit that it alone would not enamor me of this book. However, I hope the wit is enough to catch your interest beyond the metaphor of the final sentence. :)
It is my opinion that there is no place on earth more uncomfortable than London during a heat wave. I should probably qualify this by confessing that I have that I have never gone up the Congo River into the heart of darkness with Conrad, nor have I crossed the Sahara by camel. But at least people venturing to those parts are prepared to be uncomfortable. London is so seldom even vaguely warm that we are always caught completely unprepared. The tube turns into a good imitation of the Black Hole of Calcutta, and smell of unwashed armpits, strap-hanging inches from one's face, is overwhelming.What are you reading?