Christine Newman has discovered how London is coping with the sweltering summer.

It's London and it's still sizzling in record-breaking temperatures. It's hot, it's humid. People are crawling around.

The slightest effort causes immediate exhaustion and rivers of sweat. I can't take any sun, so I don my Memsahib gear; brimmed hat, long cotton dress, engulfing linen blouse. Sunglasses provide a modern touch.

Humidity is at 56 per cent, and the sun is relentless. It's never been this hot but to keep cool Londoners do the traditional thing. They go to the parks and jump in the fountains. Never mind that they don't have bikinis or swimming trunks, they know their clothes will dry instantly when they lie on the grass afterwards.

They head off to sit by water anywhere; the canals, the lake in St James's Park and down by the river.

Along the Embankment, the South Bank and on the river boats it just seems cooler. It's probably psychological but in this heat even an illusion of being a couple of degrees colder is welcome.

There's a slight breeze, but it's more like the blast of hot air from a hair dryer.

I go into Marks and Spencers. Bliss! The air-conditioning is like falling into a pool of cold, sparking water.

Going out again and, wham, hot and stifling air hits me in the face. It's akin to suddenly walking into an oven. It stops me in my tracks, and I slow down, make for the nearest shade and Sainsbury's for more cool air.

People linger in the cool supermarkets a lot. They stop for ages by the fridges, studying prices on the salads, strolling up and down the same aisles, taking their time, putting off the moment when they have to leave the delicious coolness and step out into the heat again.

Londoners who have never been to a museum or tourist spot suddenly decide they want to learn about their city. It's nothing to do with culture, it's just the shady, air-conditioned buildings that are the attraction.

London is never crowded in August in the heat, especially at weekends.

Traffic is lighter. Misguided or, rather, totally insane, travellers head for the coasts. They sit in traffic jams for miles hoping they don't run out of water. Everybody is irritable, children fractious. When they arrive, the beaches have no available space.

They should have stayed in London.

During the week, commuters are forced back down into the tube.

Young women wear as little as possible, with sun tops and mini-skirts, and carry water bottles like a mandatory fashion accessory. It's the only way to survive in the suffocating tunnels.

The male population, while enjoying the female gear, is not so sartorially resourceful.

At weekends, though, young men strip to the waist and wear shorts, but avoid European chic by keeping their socks on with sandals or trainers.

Motorists have car windows down, and as they drive create the only breeze around. But it's warm air; it's no relief.

Taxi-drivers talk about the heat. "Can't stand it, can you?"

"This is too bleedin' 'ot for me!" Yes, I agree, as I always do with London taxi-drivers, out of cowardice, but this time I mean it. Kindred spirits now. Fellow travellers in a sweltering cauldron.

At home, like everybody else, I open all the windows and draw the curtains against the relentless sunlight.

An electric fan is needed, but they have all sold out even in the little electric shop around the corner. Instead, I use a paper manual fan. It moves the warm air around a bit.

I have a cooked meal. The heat of the kitchen is no different from the heat elsewhere so it doesn't matter.

I drink some red wine, which is decidedly peculiar because it's warm and seems to be about body temperature.

That's why everybody drinks beer and shops are running out of it. Londoners sit outside the pubs beside the main roads, quaffing litres of ice-cool lager and think they're on holiday. They might as well be - it's hotter than Spain.

They're gorging themselves on ice-cream and minerals, and at home they're bringing out the barbecues to their gardens and balconies, adding smoke and cooking smells to the already still, hot air.

Londoners cope with the heat, and make the most of it. Their resilience is, unlike the weather, unchanging.