The Pains of Summer

The last few days have led me to the conclusion that I hate summer.

Actually, let me rephrase that. I don't totally hate summer; I only hate it when the weather is as hot as hell and you have to put up with temperatures of the kind that you would find inside an active volcano. When every night, you're struggling to sleep and having to peel off both the duvet and your pyjamas. When the pollen count is so high that not even the strongest antihistamine will stop you from sneezing your head off and seeing everything through itchy, streaming eyes. And when you find that just about every insect within a five mile radius has been snacking on you (I've been bitten five times so far this summer- twice in the last 48 hours).

This seems to be becoming increasingly common as each summer passes. It makes you wonder whether we'll ever see the traditional British summer of old again. There used to be a fair amount of rainy days; now there are heatwaves that seem to go on for eons until we get a massive thunderstorm. Yet the weathermen (and women) go on about the hot weather like its the greatest thing to ever happen to us! I feel like giving them a smack when they talk about impending rain like its some sort of national tragedy. Rain is good! It cleanses the earth; it refreshes us. Without it we would die! Rain's not a tragedy. After a week of none stop high temperatures its the most wonderful thing in the world!

If we keep getting summers like this I don't know how I'll cope.