For the first time in my life I have wanted to be a woman. This may come as a surprise being that I am a 28-year old man, with a solid build and a sturdy beard. No one has been exempt from the tube sweats in London this week. If you cannot say you have had a wet brow, a moist top lip or sweats of some description you genuinely cannot have hit puberty.

Anyhow I continue with my stand that I would like to be a woman. As a man, I have to wear a suit each morning to work. The shirts are reasonably fitted and the jackets are intolerably hot. I look at my fellow comrades of men and I can feel their pain. Stuck in the trenches of the underground we’re gasping for our last breaths, sweat pouring. We have not got to the point in our lives where we’re calling up Gregory to bring round the Rolls Royce. We have many, many years to go before that (decades even!)

However, the ladies of the tube whilst agreeably are hot can wear seemingly whatever the fuck they want and I am beyond jealous. Out come the short skirts, floaty tops and those straps that look like noodles over the shoulders. I mean first of all I am flummoxed that the majority can even get a way with wearing so little to work!

Secondly, they come so readily equipped with necessities that I would never think to bring myself. A portable fan that plugs into their phones. Water spray! (Seriously where do you even buy that?) Wet wipes! I mean I’m not slating it-I’m admiring the initiative. I always used to think a woman’s handbag was just a bag with the sole purpose of filling it with junk, but I can now see just how useful they are. These women carry all the necessities that equip them for the absolute furnace that is the tube! I mean these bags are bloody wonderful!

Also women have less hair than we do. I mean don’t get me wrong- it’s a bloody blessing and I wouldn’t have it any other way (in a lot of senses) but I have hair everywhere and lots of it. My chest, my legs, my stomach and (unfortunately) my back. This is a body that is not made for confined spaces with a severe lack of oxygen. These females breeze onto the tube with their fans and their wipes and their bloody sprays and their awesome handbags and make me want to be a female. To wear a dress and feel the air between my legs, to raise my hairless arm pits as I grab onto the tube bar and to peruse through my handbag of goodies.

If I could sign up to be a woman just for the commute alone, I would be at the front of the queue.

Being a man on the tube in London is just not worth the effort.