I am a hero. Literally an action hero. I know that sounds unlikely, but it is completely true. We survived the deeply misguided driving trip to France only because of my action hero-ness.

Our beautiful new fourth-hand Skoda that hastily replaced poor Betsy, was not ready for a long driving trip. Everytime you touch her something comes off in your hand. Everytime you look at her you see another deep gouge or misaligned panel. But she has 11 months MOT, so she was going, ready or not.

The drive down was, to put it simply, hell. Only hotter. We then had several lovely days with cousins, then the terrible day of the return journey arrives. It is no longer 38C. It’s 42C. We’re dead.

Then, when all seems lost, when it seems as though we will perish here, on this never ending road, me a still sweating English skeleton, trapped in a Skoda, wedged under a Péage barrier, the children long since disappeared into the French countryside to live like wolves, it's then that my action hero side kicks in.

I save the day with a Hail Mary pass that no one saw coming, least of all me.

What I do is, I notice something. I notice a button at the very bottom of the ancient Skoda dashboard. It has the letters AC on it.

At first I wonder what it could be, my sweat blurred vision swimming. Then an heroic thought pops into my heroic mind. What if AC stands for “Air Conditioning”?

Heroically, I leap into action and press the mystery button. Immediately cold air starts blasting out of the air ducts.

After 1,200 miles of us being fried like eggs, I have saved us!

What a hero!