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I think it’s fair to say that it’s finally and officially summer.
Which means it is my duty to start waxing lyrical about summer fashion, hair, beauty and bodies. I should probably go on about azure seas and white beaches and warm summer nights. And talk about bronzed skin and naturally bleached hair and lithe athletic limbs.
And, of course, I can’t talk about summer without mentioning watermelon-scented pool parties, long, hot days at the beach, fruity, colourful cocktails and lazy afternoon picnics.
Well I’m not going to. I refuse. Call me the Ebenezer Scrooge of Summer. Bah humbug.
You might think I’ve lost my mind – and to be fair, maybe I have – but bear with me for a moment…
a) Everyone I know has suddenly turned dead boring. If they’re not counting carbs (which means no sugar and no alcohol either) they’re on some stupid detox that leaves them weak and peaky and about as friendly as Satan’s hounds. And the worst of all? They keep on trying to get me to join them.
b) Hot people (and I’m talking temperature-wise here) aren’t very pleasant. You’ll note that a rise in mercury often makes people more mercurial. In queues, traffic, shops and generally everywhere in public, folks have trouble keeping their cool.
c) Mosquitoes. Need I say more?
d) Sunburn and its non-cancerous sister-in-law, self-tan. People are suddenly turning into much oranger versions of themselves – and once again, they’re trying to get me to join in the madness! Forget it.
So you see, I’m just not feeling that keen on this whole summer thing.
Maybe it’s because I can’t shake the last of my winter ‘flu and lying in bed sweating with fever while it’s a gorgeous day outside sucks.
Maybe it’s because the thought of getting into a bikini (or any form of swimwear that was invented after the 1940s) leaves me with a sense of mild terror.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I know I’ll be stuck in an air-conditioned office with artificial light for the next six weeks and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Yup. I think it’s probably that. So tell me, how do you plan to survive the next four to six weeks before the summer break?
Which means it is my duty to start waxing lyrical about summer fashion, hair, beauty and bodies. I should probably go on about azure seas and white beaches and warm summer nights. And talk about bronzed skin and naturally bleached hair and lithe athletic limbs.
And, of course, I can’t talk about summer without mentioning watermelon-scented pool parties, long, hot days at the beach, fruity, colourful cocktails and lazy afternoon picnics.
Well I’m not going to. I refuse. Call me the Ebenezer Scrooge of Summer. Bah humbug.
You might think I’ve lost my mind – and to be fair, maybe I have – but bear with me for a moment…
a) Everyone I know has suddenly turned dead boring. If they’re not counting carbs (which means no sugar and no alcohol either) they’re on some stupid detox that leaves them weak and peaky and about as friendly as Satan’s hounds. And the worst of all? They keep on trying to get me to join them.
b) Hot people (and I’m talking temperature-wise here) aren’t very pleasant. You’ll note that a rise in mercury often makes people more mercurial. In queues, traffic, shops and generally everywhere in public, folks have trouble keeping their cool.
c) Mosquitoes. Need I say more?
d) Sunburn and its non-cancerous sister-in-law, self-tan. People are suddenly turning into much oranger versions of themselves – and once again, they’re trying to get me to join in the madness! Forget it.
So you see, I’m just not feeling that keen on this whole summer thing.
Maybe it’s because I can’t shake the last of my winter ‘flu and lying in bed sweating with fever while it’s a gorgeous day outside sucks.
Maybe it’s because the thought of getting into a bikini (or any form of swimwear that was invented after the 1940s) leaves me with a sense of mild terror.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I know I’ll be stuck in an air-conditioned office with artificial light for the next six weeks and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Yup. I think it’s probably that. So tell me, how do you plan to survive the next four to six weeks before the summer break?
