This year’s summer barely got started and now it’s gone, possibly forever. No one knows what’s going on with the weather anymore, not even scientists who usually know everything about everything – they’ve given up on it because it’s just such bullshit, the BBC are scrapping the weather because it’s behaving like a jerk. Where are the long summers stretching on for miles? Why do you now get three different seasons on the same road? The world, as they used to say in the 1940s, is completely fucked. Anyway, here’s a great fun checklist of things to do now that it’s almost definitely going to be autumn for a while hopefully…
Reconfigure your beard – according to the Book of Obadiah, the size of your beard should always be inversely proportional to the density of the clouds.
Bin your salad lunches – you need salad in summer to achieve the socially-urged concave stomach, but now we can all go back to looking really pregnant.
Re-attach the legs to your cut-off denim shorts – and possibly the buttocks, and some of the outer vag/balls coverage.
Get rid of your trusty hat – nothing says “goodbye summer” like the sound of your straw hat clanging on the pavement as you hurl it from a moving car.
Stop carrying bottles of water everywhere – you were so sexy on the tube with your ice cold Volvic and your hard nips but now you look like you’re trying to hide a vodka problem.
Get some fingerless gloves – to really make these work, think Victorian ne’er do well rather than Michael Jackson Bad video. You might have to lose the bandana (in the short term).
Change your drink – as the galloping reindeer hooves grow louder, so the temperature of your wine will get hotter – time to stop going commando and pour the cold pink stuff into a river.
Restock your wardrobe – or if you can’t ape all of your cotton clothes in corduroy, just wear your usual swimming costume or Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt under a massive trench coat.
Change your music selection to something more autumnal for your indoor dinner parties – nothing says “more shepherd’s pie?” quite like Bon Iver wailing about something.
Readapt your mode of travel – with swirling breezes all around, rollerskating to work in a boob tube goes from “hey hot tits” to “nurse, get my tranquiliser gun” on the Richter Scale.
Spend at least a fortnight wondering if it might suddenly become summer again – “I mean, is anything ever really over?” you wonder aloud while you scroll through your ex’s wedding pictures, while the voice in the back of your head shouts “YES YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” through a tannoy.