I wasn't sure what hit me first, the heat, or the smell. Either way, Shanghai let me know I'd arrived. The city bowed under its own weight of clammy bodies, overheated cars, looming skyscrapers and backstreet ghettos. The fetid smell hung heavy in the air. But this I grew used to. It was the heat, the energy-sapping heat, which sucked my will to live. I'd been warned numerously, "don't go to China in the heat of summer". Did I listen? Hell no.

It was like wadding through, breathing in, sticky marshmallow. Every so often I'd wipe away the sweat dripping down my legs. Even the locals looked uncomfortable. Men were shirtless or rolled their grubby singlets up and over their protruding, protein-deficient bellies.