I am looking down on the London skyscape and Dad is sitting next to me and working his way through a packet of Fruit Polos, which he peels carefully from the wrapper – and swigging from a bottle of water. I have chosen a bench in dappled shade; others are already out enjoying the full sun. Despite the early hour, there are people sprawled on picnic blankets, half dressed; pretty girls in bikini tops and cut-off shorts; a man with his shirtsleeves and his trouser legs rolled up; clusters of mums with buggies and babies and bottles and snacks; and a homeless woman, spread-eagled on the grass, a sparse grey blanket over her, despite the heat, and two discarded bottles of beer by her feet.

This morning a man on the radio said the heatwave is expected to go on for at least another three weeks.

‘How’s the view?’ Dad asks. We’ve been here about twenty minutes.

‘Good,’ I say.

‘You can still see the whole of London?’

‘Yes.’

‘New elements to the skyline, though,’ he adds. ‘The Shard, the Gherkin …’

‘The Shard’s on your list,’ I say, hoping we don’t get that far.

Dad nods. I feel guilty that he can’t see the view. I feel guilty that I don’t really want to be here and I don’t want to go to the other places on his list. For some, the thought of a father and daughter wandering round London together would be rather wonderful; charming, almost. For this father and daughter, it’s a challenge and a pain in the butt. At one point on our walk up here, Dad stumbled against me when he hit a bumpy paving stone and we both nearly staggered into the road like drunken rugby players on a pub crawl. And we’re not exactly having fun or anything, are we? We are anti-fun. We are fun repellents.

We sit for a while, saying nothing. Eventually, Dad says, ‘You can breathe up here. Is it busy? Are there lots of people here? I can hear children.’

‘Yes, Dad, it’s quite busy.’ I describe as best I can the loungers and the sun-sprawlers and the gambolling toddlers.

He nods. ‘People like to get out,’ he says. ‘In the summer. It can be so stifling indoors.’ Why do you never open the window, then? I think. ‘It’s good to get away from the day-to-day,’ he adds.

I don’t agree with him about the day-to-day. I like the day-to-day. Doing nothing. Going nowhere. I like being in the flat so I can distract myself with the internet and social media and TV and music and movies. I don’t want to breathe and think too much, out in the open air, but, ‘Yeah,’ I say.

‘We sit in that flat too much, you know, you and me,’ he continues. ‘We should force ourselves to go to every place on that list, even if it kills us.’