Bah Humbug

I hate summer.

Well, maybe that’s a blanket statement. I don’t hate summer so much as I hate hot weather. I mean, temperatures in the upper twenties/low thirties (and yes, I know that on the grand scale of things that isn’t so hot, but this is England you know)

I have a several reasons for this:

1) I live in a relatively small flat. Heat gets trapped in here very easily, even with windows and doors open. This often results in ridiculous nighttime temperatures. And that means I can’t sleep.

2) I have skin like ricepaper. It is very thin and very white and gets burnt at the mere mention of ‘sun’. On top of this, I am stupidly photosensitive, so I suffer with sun rashes and prickly heat. Fun!

3) The lab I work in has no airconditioning. No aircon and coworkers with questionable hygiene.

4) The sun brings out the worst in English people. Suddenly, the pubs are filled with English men with their shirts off, showing off their lobster-red tans as if everyone really wants to see them, and English woman dressed like strippers, intentionally baking their skin in the sun, threats of melanoma (and looking like Judith Chalmers) all but forgotten in pursuit of the perfect orange hue. Then, tanked up on beer and heatstroke, they clog up the high streets, exuding body odour and urine. (I accept that this last bit may be exclusive to Essex)

5) Did I mention it’s just too bloody hot?

No. I like spring and I like summer, but I prefer it when the temperatures are pleasantly warm and not the kind of heat which is only appropriate if you have a swimming pool and a large margarita.


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