At the risk of people shouting ‘baah-humbug’ at me can I be the first (?) to complain about the sun?
And no, I don’t mean the paper of that name but that ‘burning ball of gas’ that was much in evidence earlier this week.
Now I realise straight away that criticising the sun is a dangerous game – indeed it is somewhat blasphemous to many. I often think that it is virtually a criminal offence in the UK to say you don’t like The Beatles or Shakespeare and for many people not enjoying a full-on heat wave is considered equally unacceptable. Indeed, I can imagine pseudo-orange people tutting away as we speak . . .
Now don’t get me wrong, I love the theory of the sun. When you’re driving home from work in the pouring rain on a November evening, you dream of days such as we experienced this week but, just as you occasionally desire a cream cake and then feel sick five minutes after eating it, I often feel let down when it all really hots up.
Maybe it’s because I’m a pasty-faced Englishman who would need six months in the Caribbean to even go a tiny bit Caramac-coloured but I just don’t get other people’s obsession with wanting to be as baked as possible.
It is a bit like going into an Indian restaurant and hearing macho people say “I want the hottest thing on the menu”. I’m the kind of guy that just looks at them, shakes my head and asks for a Korma (left).
The main problem is that when it is really hot, I find I can’t bear to be inside but then I can’t bear to be outside either.
I’ve been lucky enough to have a number of nice exotic holidays abroad in the past and for me, the real luxury is to have my face covered in a book, my body covered in cream and preferably an umbrella covering me completely. As I sit there on my safe and secure perch, I look at men and women sizzling and just think: why, oh why?
Personally, if I was ever asked the question by Mother Nature, I would on your behalf (although I suspect you wouldn’t thank me) gladly exchange a pleasant, warm climate throughout the whole year for our crazy weather with its occasional heatwave which we saw at the weekend (and which apparently is coming back in burn-making spades in the summer).
However, as I’m a glass half-full type of person I admit I can see some advantages that the sun brings.
Firstly, it seems to be the only weather that allows you to be as lazy as you want at home because, frankly, no-one can be bothered to do anything and so they can’t even be bothered to moan at you for not lifting a sweaty finger either.
Secondly, and this is not a sexist point (honest), I really liked what Paul Merton said last week on Have I Got News For You that it seems that the women of Britain are ‘solar powered’ because when the sun comes out, they all look far more attractive. And to prove it’s not sexist, I think the same could be said of many men (although frankly some of those who happily take off their shirts at the first opportunity could do with some advice about that).
The sun makes the beautiful people (male and female) look even more beautiful and wandering round the streets of Bath on Tuesday looked like an open air audition for Britain’s Next Top Model.
So yes, the sun does have some advantages but on balance I think am one of those Brits who just don’t cope with the extremes very well.
I’m moaning on here about being too hot but fear not, I’m sure in December I’ll moan about being far too cold as well.
It’s called being British. And in my case pasty-faced British.