It is quite warm, and, by all meteorological accounts, it is set to steadily get warmer. “Why is that a problem?” I hear you cry with a unity unfortunately lacking in your political aspirations. Well, it’s a problem because unlike you sun-loving, skin cancer chasing, bikini wearing, shorts and flip-flop donning, sunglasses worshipers I abhor hot, sunny weather.
While you’re outside slathering yourself in oils and lotions and believing the hype about sunny days being in some way good for you; I am inside with a thousand fans blazing, panting like an over-worked dog. While you’re out squinting past the burning rays of the sun and her oppressive, dazzling light I’m at home, curtains drawn, probably with a DVD on or something. People always say “It’s a nice day, you should get out.” But, let us analyse that statement.
Firstly, the description of the day as ‘nice’ is entirely subjective. Unless of course that is you’re some pre-programmed sheep, inherently incapable of defying your programming that tells you that just because the big yellow thing in the sky is present and making the temperature a little higher then the day must be ‘nice’. Secondly, I don’t want to get out more on days like that. It’s hot, you get all sweaty, In order to somehow survive without melting you have to dress like an idiot and what is worst of all about hot, sunny days when you don’t like hot sunny days is you have, surrounding you, a thousand and one idiots who all think you’re in some way a bit malfunctioned because you don’t like it as much as they do.
Fuck you sun worshippers. I do not like hot, sunny days. They’re shit, at least to me. Because I am a human being, with a free mind, and free will, and as such it is perfectly well within my rights to think that a hot sunny day is NOT NICE. It does not make me weird, odd, strange, misplaced, out of touch, out of sync, malfunctioned, malformed or disabled. I JUST DON’T LIKE HOT FUCKING SUNNY DAYS, OK!?
I am so sick of everyone always telling me how nice it is. Where is the objectivity!? I don’t think it is nice, and that means there must be others like me out there because I am fairly certain out of nearly 7 billion people I am not the only one who thinks hot, sunny days are not nice. It is one of those things, like language, whereby some things are considered ‘good’ and some things are considered ‘bad’ almost arbitrarily because, well, they just are. The word ‘fuck’ for instance is considered ‘bad’ by most, although common of use. But there’s nothing bad about the word fuck. It’s just a fucking word. I’ve never seen a word knife someone to death for their iphone. I have never seen a word start a war. The same is true of weather. Just because you all think it’s ‘nice’ it doesn’t mean it is. I’ve never known a hot sunny day to prevent world hunger. A hot sunny day has never caused a ceasefire in a war, so the opposing armies can go have a fucking picnic. There is no good or bad in either context, there just is. There are words, there is weather - No good or bad.
The flipside of this, of course is that surely I can’t enjoy bad weather; because that is ludicrous. Well, no it isn’t. I love walking in the pelting rain. There is something about it that is free and cleansing and right; and there is something so lovely about arriving home after a walk in the rain, soaked through, and peeling off your wet clothing (maybe taking a quick shower thanks to all the pollutants and shite in rain) and then just warming yourself. I love the cold. I love an autumn morning more than anything else; when the delicate backdrop of the pink-hued sunrise kisses the orange, red and brown leaves and everything looks gilded. And as you walk past fields and parks that golden morning sun twinkles on the dew and it looks like a sea of stars before your feet. You’re wrapped up relatively warm but you can still feel a slight chill, and the air has such a harsh bitterness that it tickles your lungs after you’ve just left a warm abode. The delicate scent in the air of wood smoke from someone’s chimney.
Storms are another thing. They’re lovely. The air aflame with licking forked tongues from some electric-blue reptilian devil in the sky. The booming roar of the heavens as clouds collide in epic battles of air pressure. The hard, yet gentle rapping on windows, doors and rooftops as rain, like some majestic tapdancer, clicks its heels with wondrous choreography.
There is such romance that can be extrapolated from those weathers that cannot from hot, sunny weather which, unfortunately for me carries connotations of idiots getting too drunk for their own good, alcoholics tanning themselves to the point that their rotund beer-guts look like bulbous leather domes. Toothless skanks wearing far too little clothing. Sweaty masses ambling about in the oppressive humidity. When it is hot, you toss and turn at night, distancing yourself from a loved one as you have to peel your bodies apart with discomfort. In the colder seasons it’s all about snuggling. Coming together to keep warm. Staying indoors a lot and communicating. To me there is something very civilised about the cold, the damp and the dreary. Spring and summer may pack the heat. But Autumn and winter are cool, and they have soul.
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