Alain Delon & Romy Schneider in La Piscine (1969)
Days of relentless heat make way for city-wide idling. Sitting on a park bench and readying my book out of its protective pouch, a man cycles past on his bike, acid jazz blaring from a speaker nestled in the familiar luminous green basket. He extends his arm out to touch the low hanging tree branches before him as he passes. Dogs merrily walk past my feet, some lingering as perhaps the scent of my cats remain within the fabric of my shoes. Their owners are always many meters behind. A girl swiftly passes, double takes, then smiles. I smile back then return to my book, noting that she did not look familiar but perhaps was being friendly. She pauses and takes out her headphones before gesturing at my book, “I’m reading that too!” she shouts. I look back at the cover as if to remind myself of what I was reading. “Oh, I just started!” I offer back, punctuated with a giggle. She replies, ‘me too’ and then gets back to her brisk walking. How sweet, I thought, an unintentional book club with another frequenter of my local park.
Bikes continue to blur as they speed through crowded streets and patches of green, providing an airy mode of transport, rivalled only by walking. The heat has reached a somewhat intolerable level so that buses just won’t do. People litter once dormant pavements, and it seems as though there is suddenly an influx of wine bars and restaurants spilling out onto the street. Outdoor tables display thin-stemmed balloon glasses filled with ice and varying spritzes by the dozen, and I find myself walking thirty minutes out of my way for a single scoop of ice cream.
I meet friends in the early evening on weekdays and try to get the most out of sunlit days on the weekend. I eat everything cold and find that snacks and ‘bites’ replace full meals. Of similar days like these, Eve Babitz wrote in Eve’s Hollywood, “those were the hot open days of summer I awoke desiring so passionately each morning” (1972: 51). We share a disposition for desiring the sun. Past merely desiring it, I am in need of it.
Arpita Singh: Remembering exhibit at Serpentine North Gallery, May, 2025
On summer solstice when the heat was unforgiving, I celebrated my birthday. I awoke on the Saturday to crisp blue skies, but by the early afternoon, when it was time to get ready, it turned disgustingly grey and foggy. I applied concealer and blush in a mood and huffed as rain clouds drew closer. I felt close to tears that my plans of a birthday picnic (that I’d already bought rather a lot of food for), would have to potentially be called off as a result of our temperamental weather. “What if everyone cancels” rang in my head. I distracted myself by applying mascara.
I frantically checked for messages in the group chat, tried to assure those coming from far away that the rain clouds were letting up in my area and in an hour by the time we would meet, a statement guided only by the everchanging forecasts of AccuWeather. It drizzled, and then the rain let up. I put on my new buckle block heels and kissed my mum goodbye. The misery came and went as quickly as the rain.
My beautiful friends came and gathered, equipped with food bits and bottles. I’d asked 3 of them alone to bring 1.5L of water through fear of someone getting heatstroke worsened by alcohol. My harissa humous lay in the middle of the picnic blanket sunbaked and subsequently inedible. The large brioche plait sweated in its plastic cover, the tub of chilli olives however was devoured too quickly to surrender to the same fate. We played music and danced, and laughed, and drank, and nibbled until glittering stars replaced the golden sun. Naked feet moved along green grass as those of us left swayed to nostalgic music and imagined ourselves as fifteen year olds again. Even in the night air we were warmed. Though I think love had a little to do with that. If love is one thing, it’s warming.
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On the hottest night of the year so far—it was 28 degrees at 11pm—I put on La Piscine (1969) per the recommendation of Criterion Collection. It featured on their Instagram post listing ‘best movies to watch during a heatwave’. I took their word on this recommendation especially because amongst the other rec’s was Do the Right Thing (1989), one of my favourites (and third in my Letterboxd top four). Visually stunning and highly sexed in a way that honours the erotic without being crudely explicit, it definitely helped to pass the time and make it through the heat. Modern society has lost the art of eroticism that is so brilliantly displayed here, I fear. Tension builds so steadily until it suddenly feels unbearable. You cannot help but marvel at the scenery that the South of France provides, their stately tan’s, the gorgeous costumes (think Pucci gowns and in-her-prime Jane Birkin), and of course, Alain Delon. I need to be in St. Tropez, and I need the cast’s collection of sunglasses.
Jane Birkin, Alain Delon & Romy Schneider in La Piscine (1969)
As temperatures rise, I am prone to playing more Roy Ayers, Freddie Kendrick, and Dionne Warwick. I find myself unable to stop listening to Oh Honey by Delegation and each time it entrances me as if it were the first time I heard it. Slow melodies and heavy basslines seem to make time melt away. They also serve as the perfect sonic backdrop for sunbathing.
On particularly sunny days last week however, I found myself outstretched on my sun lounger tuning in to silence. Tweeting birds and whispering leaves filled the silence instead. The sun laid its heavy hands on me, the heat piercing the air, thumping on my skin. I glistened from sunshine and tanning oil. My eyelids felt heavy and dry, and I worried my SPF didn’t reach them. Ignoring that sensation, I focused instead on the cooling feeling of sweat trickling down from the back of my knees to the top of my calves.
Sunshine makes for the perfect allocation of time to do nothing. Everything is slowed down, time momentarily distilled until the sun sets again, well into the early night. We cover rough grass with blankets and our body’s with not much else, journey to parks, and pools, and friend’s gardens with the sheer motivation to sit, lie down, and simply be. In that regard, summer is a gift because it allows us to be still. It offers a lending hand in prompting us to sit with ourselves. It urges us to slow down our movement and lean into the sedate. That is, the peaceful and the quiet.
It makes way for imaginings and facilitates time for pondering. The sun also motivates, excites, and stirs within me a myriad of possibilities. Things don’t seem that far out of reach when the sky is powder blue, the clouds are white and wispy, and the heat warms my skin.
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