Went to Atlanta for work this week. It was up to 43 degrees, weather-checkers. Which is 112F, old-fashioned weather-checkers.

Strange place to be. You go from over-air-conditioned airport to brick-wall heatwave whilst climbing in a taxi. From the taxi you hit that heat wall again as you climb out and enter the overly-air-conditioned foyer of your hotel. You repeat this process, including only one other (overly-air-conditioned) work-related venue amongst the mix. That way, you only sweat for a few moments of your day. The rest of the time, you're in need of a cardy and wake up with a sore throat.

I'd entertain you with mad-cap tales of Atlantan antics, except there weren't any.

The only thing I did was go to The New World of Coca-Cola experience, which is actually pretty damned impressive. You get to see loads of iconic advertising through the years (me like the ads), gawp at Norman Rockwell paintings behind bullet-proof glass, admire a collection of old postcards that just happen to include Coke signs in small-town street scenes, and do a worldwide taste test. The result? Italy does it worst with a drink called Beverley. Yuck.