In Aix-les-Bains this summer, a postal worker named Harmony Simon climbed the stairs to Martine Combe's apartment carrying no letters. Combe, sixty-eight, lives with diabetes and asthma, and had covered her windows with scraps of aluminium foil in a doomed attempt to keep the heat out. The room had reached thirty-six degrees. Simon inspected the makeshift shutters, suggested she try the reflective survival blankets marathon runners use instead, and noted that the trick had lowered the temperature in her own flat by several degrees. It was an ordinary exchange, repeated thousands of times across France this summer, and that ordinariness is precisely the point.

The visits are part of a national policy introduced in June by Prime Minister Sébastien Lecornu, extending the existing remit of French postal workers, who already checked in on registered vulnerable residents, into a systematic effort to identify isolated elderly people who fall outside municipal welfare registers. La Poste's delivery network reaches nearly every household in the country daily. Rather than build new capacity, the French state simply asked an institution that already had eyes on every doorstep to look a little harder.

Britain has no equivalent. This matters more than it might have a year ago, because 2026 has become the deadliest year for heat-related mortality since records began. The UK Health Security Agency's interim figures put the toll at roughly 2,877 excess deaths across the May and June heat episodes, nearly double last summer's total and on course to surpass the previous record set in 2022. Yvette Cooper, now Health and Social Care Secretary, acknowledged as much directly, describing the impact of sustained summer heat on the NHS in terms usually reserved for winter pressures, and thanking care staff who had been stretched thin trying to protect people through it.

That framing is telling. British policy still treats extreme heat largely as an episodic hospital problem, met with amber and red alerts, guidance to stay hydrated, and pressure on emergency departments once the damage is already occurring. What France's postal scheme demonstrates is a different logic entirely: heat mortality among the isolated elderly is substantially preventable at low cost, provided somebody with routine, trusted access to the home actually turns up before the crisis peaks. The intervention that mattered in Combe's flat was not medical. It was a visit.

The reason Britain has nothing resembling this is not technological. It is structural. A decade of underfunded adult social care has thinned out precisely the workforce that once performed this function informally, home care visits, meals-on-wheels rounds, community nursing checks on the housebound. Local authorities, already absorbing real-terms cuts, have limited capacity to build proactive outreach programmes, and integrated care boards remain focused on acute flow rather than preventive contact with people who are isolated but not yet in crisis. The UK's Heat Health Alert system, run by UKHSA with the Met Office, is a genuinely sophisticated forecasting tool, but forecasting a red alert and reaching the person alone on the fifth floor are separate problems, and only the first has been solved.

There is a version of this that Britain could build without waiting for a comprehensive social care settlement that governments have deferred for a generation. Neighbourhoods are already frequented by meter readers, pharmacy delivery services, Royal Mail, and district nurses. None of that requires new legislation, only a decision to treat an existing network as underused public health infrastructure rather than a logistics operation with no bearing on care.

What France's mail carriers are really demonstrating is that resilience against climate-driven mortality does not always require new money or new institutions. Sometimes it requires noticing that the infrastructure for care already exists, scattered and unrecognised, and choosing to use it before the next amber alert turns red.