I’m feeling somewhat subdued as I write this, and I know the reason why. No, it isn’t the various and on-going political nightmare that is Brexit, or the equally frightening nightmare that is Trump, it’s something that we Brits manage to moan about each and every passing day – the weather. It is, currently, shocking.

You see, we are now in May. We are well and truly into spring. The weather is supposed to be taking a turn for the better, so why is it getting bloody worse?! Isn’t it our turn for good weather, for warmer weather, for sunshine? I have pictures of my little girl sitting in the garden at this time of year, enjoying the glorious outdoors. There’s no chance of that right now, and it’s getting right up my nose.


Eh, this post is boring. Everyone knows Brits moan about the weather. I live in a desert. Try that for once.

I suppose he’s right. I could have it worse. A lot worse. But I’m pissed off that I still need my coat to go to work, even now! And it gets even more stupid from there! You see, I need my coat, but by the time I get to work, I’m sweating! What the @!”% is that all about? (wait, can’t you swear here?). How can it be both too cold and yet hot at the same bloody time?!

No, I don’t live in a desert, or the Artic, or anywhere that experiences hurricanes or tornados. So I have a lot to be thankful for, weather-wise. But us Brits have a deep yearning to lose our pasty-white skin and for once, look tanned and healthy. I’d show you pictures of my chest*…


Oh dear God no!

… but who wants to see a milk bottle?

It’s even about enjoying the simple things. It’s nice to be able to sit down in the garden, and read my book. It’s quite quaint to take dinner in the, erm, outdoors (in the outdoors? Is that right?). Imagine being able to look at the stars on a warm summer’s night, cold beer in hand… it’s the stuff dreams are made of! A cold beer on a cold night just isn’t the same…

I don’t know if there’s a God. If there is, then I pray for summer. Or at least spring. We can’t go on with this weird, miserable, never-ending winter we seem to have. This isn’t the North, I am not a Stark, and Winter isn’t Coming – it should have been and gone!

*for anyone who was sincerely traumatised by this suggestion, I have set up a helpline to help you deal with your situation. It may be too late to prevent nations from crumbling, but if you call 0800 -B-L-E-A-C-H-M-Y-E-Y-E-S you can address this trauma!