Britain is basking in tropical sunshine. The anglo-saxon pallour has changed, overnight, from a pasty #FFCC99 to a painful #FF6633. Ouch!
All urban areas are cocooned in a smog of barbeque smoke and the air has a sulty tang of pork. If you haven’t procured meat products for your own barbeque yet, forget it. I saw the ferrel look in peoples eyes as they fought over the last packet of pork and apple sausages in Sainsbuys… if you’re not prepared to go out and kill a pig yourself then you’ll have to make do with gatecrashing someone elses hog-roast!
The ice-cream van that stops in our road usually has to leave his Greensleeves chime on for a good couple of minutes in order to entice out the zombified youth – now though, they’re lining the streets, taking time out from paddling pools and water fights to stand clutching their pound coins, so very expectantly. (I think their might be a riot if he’s out of 99’s).
So, this is England in the summertime. Who could ask for anything better? In my opinion, insanity’s fine if it’s a shared experience with the rest of the nation.
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