Wales, most of the year is a dark, dreary cold place to live, out summers are pleasant but rarely... continental. But every now and again, we break from tradition and have an unexpected hot(ter) spell, and I'm sweating in the middle of one now.
Sadly, the rarity of these blue skied outbursts really goes to peoples heads. Yes, it's warm, but no, man by ponty bus station, nobody wants to see your middle aged gut in a vest and floral shorts, let alone your hairy feet in flip flops, it's just not on. As soon as the sun comes out 45,000 chavs appear with no tops on drinking strongbow in every beer garden for 25 square miles. The very thought that this 2 week period of relative heat may be it for the summer gets these people into such a blind panic that common sense goes straight out the window.
I'm a moderate fan of the heat, but very rarely and in much hotter climates have I ever felt the urge for a bit of public disrobing (Then it was just the shirt). I work in an air-con free office and if you open the window not only is there no wind to speak of to cool you down, but the birds have a habit of shitting on it, it's not an overly comfortable place to be at the moment, but this doesn't mean I'm going to turn up to work with my moobs flopping about the place contained only by a primark vest and my stinking feet on full display.
On route to this bus this morning I have already come across one chav in sunglasses, vest and shorts, it was 7am and cold... Still at least it was excellent golf weather Sunday!
The sensationalist media will probably kick off any moment, half will be proclaiming UK hotter than surface of sun, while half will be predicting all of our deaths via global warming and skin cancer, oh and the sun thanking Simon Cowell for bringing the sun to the UK (as it shines from his backside).
So overall, chavs... keep the top on, it's still March and I've only just eaten.
No comments:
Post a Comment