Why I hate summer (From Watford Observer)

Why I hate summer

3:55pm Friday 26th March 2010

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First of all it’s never as good as you think it’s going to be. March arrives and Facebook is overrun with status updates of ‘I can’t wait to get a tan!’, ‘CORFU 10. SUMMER <3’ and such like. All sentences that make my teeth gnash. Not only because I can’t be bothered with summer or anything it entails. But because the sort of people that write those sort of status’ are almost certain to call you ‘hunni’, sign a text with ‘ily’ and, in turn, grant themselves a life sentence on my list of ‘people I’d most like to punch’.

As you have probably gathered, I have an extremely low expectation of summer, and yet, even I am disappointed when it comes around. In England we manage at most 7 days of weather a foreigner wouldn’t scorn. On those days, everybody heads over to some park where every single person you have ever met at school has congregated, and you sit in the glaring sun gaining a tinge of redness known to you as a ‘tan’. You then eat lots and lots of sweets and drink lots and lots of sugar (otherwise known as ‘fizzy pop’) and talk of all the great barbeques you are going to have where everyone contracts a hefty dose of food poisoning. You then go home with sun stroke.

On the days when the weather is less-than-acceptable (raining, grey skies, and possible chance of a hail storms) you sit inside, updating your Facebook status with declarations of depression and watching Friends on repeat. If you do venture outside, you will be met by chav-type girls loitering on the streets wearing what can only be described as not-enough, their boobs speckled with goose-pimples, warming their hands by the glow of their cigarette.

Going away definitely isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either. Family holidays are laden with arguments and getting lost in corn fields in an attempt to go-on-a-nice-walk. And if you are a member of my family you are guaranteed to miss at least one flight/train/horse and carriage.

Most holidays with friends involve a tacky holiday resort, tacky night clubs, getting drunk every night, and only eating food that has been man handled by at least 15 dirty men. I do realise a lot of people find holidays like that fun, but I for one, do not.

Personally, if I go on holiday, I quite like to go somewhere nice.

The only redeeming factors of summer are Wimbledon (mostly due to Andy Murray’s legs), Big Brother (but that’s getting axed this year, so fan-bloody-tastic), and barbeques (minus the food poisoning) with friends and candles and summer evenings when it’s not too hot but not too cold.

Find me one of them and I’ll stop complaining. Possibly.

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