Summer madness

Well, the sun's been shining here for two consecutive days, so I guess that means that summer's finally here with just two weeks left before the days start to get shorter again.

Fab.

Of course, summer brings out the worst in people over here. British folk can't deal with the sun shining. The following things tend to happen as soon as it gets above 20°C:

• Fat women's arms are forced on us from everywhere. These aren't just large arms, they're large arms with dry, scaly skin, with horrible armpits, with huge flabby bingo wings flapping about underneath the upper arms. Why do fat women wear sleeveless tops? There should be a law against wearing these garments unless you've got an licence. Sleeveless tops also reveal unattended armpits and I can't cope with any armpits so I'll leave that thought right where it is.
• Hobbit feet. The same type of people who unashamedly expose their upper arms and armpits also expose their disgusting feet: horrible horny, yellow toenails; hairy toes; hard, yellow heel skin. Jesus, where do these freaks come from?
• Legs. No, no, NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• Topless men congregating outside the boozer from 11am. No sun cream, plenty of beer and no food leads to the sort of behaviour I encountered on Sunday night. They finally decide that they should perhaps get something to eat when they're burnt to a crisp, pissed as farts and suffering from sun stroke. The gathering of these fucking numpties and their bits of skirt (blonde with orange skin) in the local takeaway always leads to trouble when there's a fight over the last kebab in the shop.
• Cooked-out food: raw on the inside, burnt on the outside and with a slight tinge of lighter fluid - we love our BBQs over here!
• Offensively loud music. Either in cars or through open windows, people can't help making a racket - usually while burning food on the BBQ and getting pissed on cheap French lager. Of course, the music tends to be so loud that everybody has to shout over it, then the music gets turned up more....
• Shelves stripped of salad veg and bread rolls. Again, the supermaket suppliers simply cannot cope with the demand for lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers on the two days a year when the sun comes out. However, if you ever attend a barbecue, you'll notice that all the salad ends up in the bin at the end of the night.
• Lawnmower Man. All the neighbours have ALL the garden power equipment and they have to use it. But you don't get everybody doing their gardens at the same time to get it over and done with. No, one will be done Saturday morning, another Saturday afternoon, another Sunday morning, another Sunday afternoon. Eventually, there's a constant whining of electrical or petrol-powered mowers, strimmers and vacuums and above this, there's the loud music and pissed up people screeching.
• Screaming kids. They hang around in gangs all the time anyway, looking useless and mouthing off to anybody who's older than them, but in summer, there are more of them and they're there ALL THE FUCKING TIME! Schools out and so are they and they never go home. They just wander up and down the streets from July to September. Bastards.
• Sunglasses. Wear your sunglasses in the sun - fine! Nip into the shop and keep them on for a minute or two - fine! Do not, not, NOT wear them propped on your head while you're indoors all fucking day! This particularly grates on me in women over a certain age who also wear normal specs for their work. Fucktards.
• Moth attack. Moths are evil. Those big bastards that lie in wait for when you open the door in the evening are the sporn of Satan, I swear it. They're HUGE and they buzz and flutter in their drunken way; sort of aiming for a light source, but always managing to knock into you with their weirdness. The worst scenario is when you get trapped in the bathroom with one if you're having night-time shower or bath, particularly if you have a shower curtain and they get right in there with you.
• Henmaniacs. They're on their way folks! They're already revving up at Queens and they'll be out in full force within a couple of weeks.
• Cliff Richard at Wimbledon. Fuck.

Of course you get jealous of those people with nice convertible cars. My, I bet that's nice on a warm day. You see though, even with the right climate, I doubt I'd have one for fear of having done to me what I think about doing to drivers of convertibles. Such things include: using my windscreen washers while driving passed (or is it past?) them; aiming litter at them; trying to jump in the back for a bet.

So no, I don't think I'd have one. I'll stick to air con. Besides, I'd burn to a crisp within an hour and my hair would never cope.