I'm not having this. I'm fed up.
All you people, yes you, with your 'Oh, where did the summer go?' and your 'Not til long til Christmas.' It's not on.
It's no wonder the sun is so shy, so eager to hide, so lacking in confidence when the slightest bit of cloud have you searching through your decorations box looking for tinsel. Can't you see what you're doing?
I have three weeks left of my summer holiday (yes, I know, but I work hard, occasionally. In fact I vividly remember a Tuesday in April when I turned up to teach all my lessons, and marked stuff, and planned stuff. So there. But anyway.) and I'm not giving up on summer until I'm back on coffee making duty in September.
It doesn't matter that DK has been feeding me Lemsips for the last few days because I have a bit of a cold. In fact, no, scratch that. I Am A Man - Thus I have Exploding Head Death. Not a cold at all, it is in fact a serious and life threatening condition.
Nor does it matter that my insistance in walking home from Pubjob has resulted in me getting soaking wet and cold every night this week.
In fact, I'm even chosing to ignore the fact that I went into Matalan for a decent shirt yesterday and found that all the summer clothes are now gone, and large, bulky coats and jumpers have sprouted from the squeaky lino flooring.
None of this matters. I accept the fact that Winter is the natural state up on my frozen hilltop. That's not going to stop me fighting for the summer though. I will wear shorts dammit. I will saunter about in t-shirts. I will eat picnics, even if it's from the front seat of my car because the parks are all now swamp.
Oh good, Lemsip time.
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