“And we’ve been so lucky with the weather…,” they cry, perspiring pinkly. “It’s hotter than the Seychelles, here. In Glasgow.”
It’s true. The sun has beat relentlessly onto Glasgow’s unusually clean streets these past few days. Even locals who normally consider that a sunny spell is part of an elaborate natural practical joke – like making someone sit on a comfy-looking but precarious chair, have begun to relax.
Erm.. Actually, I’d really like it to rain for a bit. No really, I would.
Oh, stop it with the disapproval. What’s so fantastic about relentless sunshine anyway?
The sweating. How can we be celebrating anything that recreates the feeling of a roiling hangover or a hot flush? Broken-vein burgundy is not a good look for anyone, especially not when viewed through a sheen of dampness. Not to mention the niff.
Then there’s the potential for skin-damaging sunburn. I know we spend a lot of time and energy painting pretend stuff on ourselves, but that’s because the real thing is dangerous and ageing as well as less readily available in an ordinary Scottish July. Plus sunburn hurts.
Our wardrobes aren’t designed for it, either. Our attempts to keep cool, yet look vaguely professional aren’t wholly successful, falling somewhere in the region of professional burlesque performer, badly rolled pork shoulder or Bedouin tent.
Gardens shrivel up and go brown – something I would possibly celebrate if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re left with dead and wizened weeds that look worse than the live ones. Obviously this is not the case for those of you who are competent gardeners, but if you’ve driven down my street lately you’ll know I’m not among your number.
Perhaps our slavish sunshine adoration has something to do with the thousands many of us have spent on getting ourselves to a more southerly country to spend the best weeks of the year smearing ourselves in expensive lotion to protect ourselves from the very rays we’re about to spend hours exposing ourselves to. This, I have never quite understood.
However, if you normally pay for something then, clearly, when it’s being given away for free we’re going to binge – like “those” relatives at a posh wedding – even if we don’t actually enjoy what we’re doing.
Certainly in the grey-skied north, when the sun shines an internal voice stars saying “ooh, it’s nice, get outside, don’t waste it, go on. Go on.” I’m a grown up now, so I can stay in the shade if I want, but the voice is still there.
It’s raining now. Oh yes, that’s better. I’ll get my jacket.
|And this is what I found when I went out. So much more beautiful in the rain…
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