I cannot have been the only one who recoiled with horror when the blandly spoken Home Counties MILF presenting the weather promised that this was to be the hottest week of the year. The multitude of clowns who will doubtless be rejoicing at this grim news simply serve to back up my long-held view that the Russians should have nuked us into oblivion when they had the chance. The thing that makes us superior from the rest of the animals is that one day our chimp ancestors woke up in their trees, felt the baking hot sun beating down oppressively upon their hairy backs and said; “Fuck this, I’m building myself a house.”
The sun guilt trips us into being outside. The sun taunts us from our office windows forcing us to turn the air conditioning up to full – that same air conditioning that hoovers up our germs and diseases and distributes sickness throughout the entire workplace. The heat wipes out our elderly like a naturally occurring Harold Shipman and causes the roadkill to swell and bloat until it explodes into our nostrils, the putrefied stench of death ever present on a hot summer’s day in the infernal countryside.
Meanwhile the long days expose us, forcing us from our beds. A pleasant Sunday lie in is interrupted by the beating rays and searing heat and we wake up drenched in a sweat so severe as to make us assume we’ve both pissed ourselves and had other people piss over us as we slept. A gloriously late night of playing video games or engaging in a Netflix marathon is destroyed when the sun appears, seemingly at random, at three in the fucking morning, silently judging you like the prudish landlord of a quiet country pub as you order your sixth pint of the day at half past twelve on a Tuesday afternoon.
In winter the darkness values your privacy. The cold welcomes the strong, braces you, makes you feel alive, involves you. The heat is yours to control at the flick of a radiator switch. The shortest journey becomes a wondrous adventure full of peril, like a Victorian boy’s own novel only hopefully without the unashamed racism. Whilst summer is a time of salads and Salmonella from under-cooked barbecues, winter is a time of thick broths and hearty roasts. Whilst summer brings us naked hippies invading our national monuments to celebrate the fallacy of midsummer with pot and LSD, winter brings us Christmas, beer, mulled wine and singing in the streets.
Enjoy your long hot summer days if you like. Enjoy stepping on used syringes on the beaches and ingesting raw sewage into every one of your orifices as you swim obliviously in the world’s largest toilet. I’ll be drawing the blackout curtains tightly across my windows and looking forward to those glorious, vengeful days when Mother Nature strips the trees naked and enfolds the earth within the shroud of endless night.