Summer

And then on to a weekend of glorious sunshine. Which was… disappointing. I hate summer. Yes, yes, yes. I’ve heard all the arguments but I’m sorry summer is foul. No two words strike more fear in to my heart than “Indian Summer”. Just extends the fear. I begin to dread summer around March, I know the good times of winter are about to end and we’ll be plunged in to misery. I just don’t get it. It’s filthy hot and all people do is talk about how hot it is. You smother yourself in cream that doesn’t rub in properly just so you can go outside and not burn to death. And even then you miss a bit and so have one very weird shaped patch of bright red skin, which then peels. Or you forget your factor 60 when you put the bin out and come back with a bright red face which you then put make up on making you look like some sort of trial cosmetic surgery patient or the result of a child attempting to find “flesh” colour in a box of crayons “well there’s nothing here that looks like flesh, I’ll use neon pink instead”.

Also you’re expected to be outside all the flipping time. Running around rejoicing in ants and gnats. You know what I thought would be fun? If we took all our dinner outside and ate off a rug. To make things more “fun” I thought we’d eat off some plastic plates, seeing as you have to eat off your knees it’s nice to have a plate with a bit of flex to it. And for extra special fun we’re going to do away with using the oven and char our food over an open fire. You know, like the cavemen did.

After all this “fun” you can return to your own oven, more commonly know as your house and sweat to death in your bed for 8 hours until it’s time to get up and take your first shower of the day. You will take the second one moments after stepping out of the shower and realise you are instantly covered in sweat again.

To enhance the joy there is a soundtrack. Every radio station in the land will play Summer in the City, In the Summertime, California Dreaming and of course Summertime by Will Smith. Which has the unique skill of making you nostalgic for summers you never actually had. I have never hung out on a basketball court watching little girls playing double dutch. Oh and a grown man who calls himself “Jazzy Jeff” should be shot in the face. Sounds like a paedophilic uncle.

People also lose the ability to dress themselves. I have no desire to see your mid-drift, your cellulite, your camel hoof or your weird peeling skin. Summer also seems to reveal that there are many people in this world suffering from the terrible condition of “four boob syndrome”. This is easily solvable – go up a size. Oh and while you’re there, hoik them up a bit.

But the worse thing is people unable to accept that you just don’t like summer. You ask to sit in the shade and you get told that you should be enjoying the glorious sunshine. You say you don’t like it. Oh but it’s wonderful. Oh but it’s not. Oh but it makes you feel so happy. No it makes me plunge in to a mood until I can put tights on for winter. Well I like it. Well good for you, I hate it now shut up. I don’t expect people to dance around all winter, revelling in the joy that is cold, I accept your short comings now accept that anything above 7 degrees sends me in to a mood. I spend most of summer praying for rain. Now let me get on with it.

Still hopefully over soon eh?