The Summer is here again and obviously its not to hot for Filipinos in London a little poem for all you sun worshipers.

not that kind of hot

It’s too hot in Epsom — we can’t lie,Even the jeepneys would rather not drive!Auntie fainted, Tito’s sweating through,Even the rice cooker said, “I’m done too!”

We came for summer, but this is mad—The sun’s gone full init ng ulo bad.Flip-flops melting, fans on max,Lola’s hiding behind cold packs.

But wait! What’s that? A frosty dream?It’s Marlon’s halo-halo — ICE. COLD. CREAM.Layers of joy in a colourful cup,One bite in and we’ve all cooled up!

Purple, crunchy, milky, sweet—The only cure for this heatwave beat.So if you’re melting, don’t be shy,March to Marlon’s and give it a try!

Bring your ate, your kuya, your nanay too,It’s too hot for drama — we need something cool!We’re not made for British sun attacks…We’re tropical, yes—but not like that!

So Epsom folks, here’s the plan,Halo-halo in hand, electric fan.Beat the heat, and save your soul—At Marlon’s, we serve it cold, in a bowl!

Its to hot not that kind of hot MARLON

May your summer be filled with joy and sun,From all of us—Mabuhay!—have fun!

A SHORT STORY NOT EXACTLY TRUE BUT FUN ALL THE SAME .

It was the hottest day Epsom had seen since Queen Liz rode horses through it. Alex, 60, sweat dripping down his linen collar, paced the streets like an angry tourist on a cancelled cruise.

He wasn’t just hot. He was boiling .And not just from the sun. No — his young, gorgeous Filipina Girlfreind, Carmelita, was missing. Again. Carmelita — 29, hot-blooded, hot-bodied, and dangerously self-aware

Carmelita — whose name meant "garden" in Spanish (and she told everyone like it was a divine prophecy) — loved three things: her tan, her legs, and attention. God gave her all three, and she used them like weapons.

Alex, rich and retired, had plucked her from the depths of a Manila karaoke bar, lifted her up, gave her everything —a home, a green card, even dental.

But today?

Today she was nowhere. He searched the shops. The park. Even the statue of Emily Davison got a glare. He checked the salon the off-license. The Filipino grocery shop where she once tried to buy a frozen pig’s head for "emotional reasons."

Then...from a distance...he saw her.

In a summer dress so short it legally counted as a shrug, laughing —FLIRTING —with Marlon.

Alex knew this game. He didn’t survive four divorces, three accountants, and two hip surgeries by being naïve but he was getting too old to chase someone whose entire personality was legs, lipstick, and low-cut tops.

Yes, IT WAS that Marlon. Owner of the Filipino restaurant. Alex knew is reputation despite everything the women thought he was a sexy beast. Although many tantes were getting on a bit it didnt matter he was the enemy. Muscles like adobo boulders. Under his shirt maybe?Skin glowing like lechon oil. Has he been rubbing it on his face? Smile like a teleserye villain with backup dancers. Ahh he's still got young looks.Is that because Im old thought Alex or is it a fellow lothario.

Alex’s heart sank. His wallet tensed.

He stomped over, huffing and puffing. “CARMELITA!” he barked. She turned, licking halo-halo off her spoon like it was audition day for a soft drink ad.

“Oh Alex,” she purred.“Come cool down. It’s too hot to argue.”

Marlon winked and went back inside. Probably to bench press a pig or something although, Marlon’s six-pack had migrated south. The only abs he had now were absolutely hiding under his girdle. But it held the flesh in. Marlon had eaten his own weight in halo-halo since opening the place and his once jet-black hair was going grey like condensed milk in slow motion.

Still… he looked at the flirtatious Filipino woman vowing he would get something for that free scoop of ube she was sampling.

Carmelita smiled, sweet as ube.“Don’t worry, mahal. You brought me from the gutter I know I came from a karaoke bar with no shoes. Now I have a Gucci bag and a Costa card.” She leaned in and whispered, “…but I brought myself to the menu.”

you said you was going for “a walk to clear the head.”Translation: you needed attention and probably a new selfie angle. That's right my love she spouted as she looking in her bag for the selfie stick.

Alex glared.

sipped. He steamed.

And as they walked off in silence, she turned to a group of titas and whispered:

“He’s old. He’s angry. But he’s rich. And I love a man who can take care of me. A pause. A grin. “I just have to outlive him.” she said turning to Alex who heard her, Ha she laughed " just a joke my love."

Alex smiled at this his father had lived until he was 103 .

Alex stared her down. “I brought you up from the gutter,” he growled.

Carmelita smiled, sweet as leche flan gone slightly sour.“Yes, and now look — I’m thriving in a heatwave.” a group of aunties were watching through the window. One whispered, “She’s gonna outlive him, get the house, and probably buy this restaurant too.”

Carmelita kissed Alex on the cheek. Loud. Icy.“Let’s go, mahal. Before the halo-halo melts and so does your temper.”

Marlon from his shop looked around

“Too hot for this nonsense…” he muttered, loosening the girdle like a broken man setting a fish back into the river. The customers chatted merrily the sun was shining and then the phone rang and he had 20 orders of halo halo cha-ching he thought another wonderful day.