Hey Fun! Hey Summer! Hay Fever.

I can now state, without doubt, mockery or deceit, that summer has finally arrived. Gone is the winter, gone is the spring. Now is the time of the sun, although he is doing a very good impression of clouds and rain at the minute. A versatile chap, that sun, I wonder what his Sean Connery’s like. Yes, it may not seem like the festival of tan and ice cream that everyone desires, mostly because you can’t bronze in hail and it’s difficult to enjoy a frozen treat with frozen teats, but the summer is definitely here. I say this because I have spent the last couple of weeks with splendidly itchy eyes, a nose that dreams of being a free flowing stream, and tissue paper lodged in most of my facial orifices. Ah, the summer, when that great ball of fire burns brightly behind a wall of water, when one is woken early and kept up late, and when I look even less attractive than usual. Yeah, that’s right, laugh it up.
It’s not that I don’t like the season of barbecues and factor 50, it’s just that ones enjoyment of any activity, or annual segment, is degraded by the presence of mucus and saliva smeared across ones face, even if it is ones own. The most irritating part of the whole arrangement is that this year the drugs don’t seem to be working. I refer, of course, to your bog standard anti histamines rather than crack or skag or meth amphetamine, not because I have any knowledge as to whether they are effective treatments, but because they are well out of my price range for nose blocking, face un-puffers. It is a particularly cruel affliction, hay fever, in that you awake to beautiful, golden sunshine pouring through your window, feel invigorated by the sense of possibility this new, dry world instills in you, dress merrily in your coolest (function, not street cred) clothes, and fling the door open with gay abandon, only to have the back of your eyes clawed at by a tiny, invisible ferret, and gallons of thick, stringy gloop released from your sinuses. It takes the shine off Frisbee and a Cornetto.
While I’m on about it, summer’s a bastard for insects that sting and bite as well. I seem to be particularly delicious to the bitey ones, they nibble away – usually just around the sock line – until my skin and flesh get all red and swollen. This adds to the already dangerous potency of my sexual appeal. I’d be beating them away like flies if it wasn’t for the constant need to actually be beating away all the bloody flies. Wasps are fuckers, aren’t they. With their black and yellow bands of death, hurtling towards you and your Calippo like some sort of tiny, pointy arsed cunt. They’re everywhere too, in large intimidating groups, just waiting for a picnic or kids party to ruin. I’d ban them. I would. I’d ban them and lock them all away in tiny death camps, then I’d squash them one by one, in front of their brethren. I would. Nah, fuck ’em. I definitely would.
But I don’t dislike the summer, for all its faults it still has the lure of being the least grey, cold and wet period during the year. The ladies tend to wear less, or floatier, clothing (something that is a visual curse as often as a trouser shrinking blessing), peoples spirits are generally higher, and there is a leaning towards a more social, chatty, eating, drinky kind of a time. Which is pleasant. The minor drawback to this is that there are an awful lot of people about. Burnt, red, irritable, pissed, smelly, stupid, stupid people. Stupider than on any other given occasion. Show us a bit of sun and we rub ourselves in goose fat, wrap ourselves in tin foil and sit in the sizzling heat for as long as it takes to roast. Season, and then serve. It’s remarkably silly behaviour, there’s no need to cook yourself and you don’t look any better – you look like an idiot. Then there’s those people who tan so well they end up looking like Morph, and truly, it’s no improvement on Walking Crackling. It’s there to be enjoyed, yes – but I enjoy Microwave chips, and I don’t feel the need to continuously heat them at groin height until my testicles are melon sized wastelands. Everything in good measure.

Summer then. It’s good, if a little scratchy and sniffy and surrounded-by-lobster-peopley. A bit more sunny and a little less downpour would be nice, especially as they do seem to put an awful lot of sport on the television in June and July, and the floods are making it somewhat difficult to go outside, thus avoiding the ball kicking, jumping and running. Don’t put it on the television, and if you must, don’t take everything else that’s not shite off. That’s just cruel, that. I’m not a wasp, you monsters.

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