I once wrote that there were four words that would keep me in the UAE: no tax, valet parking.
Now, after a couple of weeks in sweltering London, I have to add another two: air conditioning.
The British capital has been gripped by what some of the tabloids are calling "the summer of death".
Warm, sunny days, with temperatures in the low 30s, are said by the red-top newspapers to be responsible for more than 700 deaths over the past fortnight. Hysterical nonsense.
Roads are melting in the heat, wildfires are breaking out in the countryside and products like fans, sun cream and men's shorts are hard to find.
It's a peculiarly British type of crisis.
When I tell people I live in Dubai and that the temperature in the summer regularly tops 40 degrees, they give me a look of pity.
"How can you bear it? Still, at least this must be OK for you then. You're probably glad of the cold weather," they laugh.
The truth is that I'm not taking it at all well, because London is not geared up to take even moderately hot weather.
Air conditioning is an exception virtually everywhere. Give me 40°with AC, rather than 30° without it, any time.
As I write this in a Starbucks near Blackfriars, the air temperature is 34°, but the only cooling in the whole shop is a tiny air fan, maybe 10 inches across, clearly fighting a losing battle.
The poor baristas look on the verge of mutiny at the conditions, and I wouldn't blame them for shutting up shop and walking out in protest.
I'm a student again, at least for a while. My temporary accommodation in London is my daughter's student residence, and my neighbours are mainly foreign students doing summer courses in London. And what lovely people they are. Maybe it's because they're not from the UK, or maybe times have changed completely, but I'm sure when I was at university, some time back in the medieval era, students were a lot less polite, and much more noisy and boisterous.
I sit on the balcony after dinner listening to the sound of the city, and there is barely a peep from the apartments to my right and left.
The only noise comes from a crowd of youngsters in the street below (British, of course) coming home from a night out.
I have a chat with my next-door neighbour, a Turkish Cypriot studying marketing at Kings College. After discussing the situation in Turkey, Syria and the Kurds, we get around to talking about London.
He's had a good time as a student in the capital, but wants to get back to Cyprus.
"I don't really like English people, they are too noisy," he says, apologising to me immediately for the minor slight on my perceived nationality. No offence taken. I think I largely agree with him.
I used to hate Canary Wharf when I worked there 10 years ago.
Then, London's new financial district built on the moribund docklands to the east was a soul-less construction site, devoid of facilities or any fun.
A trip eastwards last week to meet some banking contacts changed my mind completely.
The place is now absolutely buzzing, with shops, restaurants and all you would wish for in a working environment.
It is obviously a great success, and I was wrong back then, I concluded as I watched the Thames slip by on my return trip westwards on a new Thames Clipper boat.