I always go a bit weird when the summer months jump out on me unexpectedly. It's like some brilliant surprise party where all the fun months are hiding behind soggy aul April snickering and nudging May in the ribs cooing 'not yet...waitforit...NOW!' and then suddenly, while you're wringing out your sodden jacket in the rain clogged gutter, the sun appears and with it leaves and flowers and mohitos and parks and dogs and girls legs on bikes and bald men in groups wanking each other off conversationally about said legs on bikes.
I go a bit weird though because I find summer a challenge, after living for 9 months in a world which wobbled between black and gray on the colour spectrum its hard to adjust. For a start there's a whole new etiquette to learn when out and about, its disconcerting even finding the actual act of being out and about pleasurable as opposed to running awkwardly everywhere through the freezing sloppy rain, head bowed low to the curb assuming the position of what could only appear to the sheltered bystander as some kind of athletic masochistic genuflection.
Walking through town today I saw a load of buff chaps with no tops on which sent me into a tizzy as well you can imagine - I haven't spent the intervening dark months down the gym, as the only 'toning up' I've done is meeting up with my pal Tony for boozy gin parties. They've got their summer attire sorted those guys, I'm envious, but it's not the route for me and as a result I dunno what to wear at the minute. I've still got a wool jacket on and I'm not sure but I think everything I own is made of wool or is at least 65% wool.
I'm not even sure I remember how to exist in a park properly. Sitting on grass is baffling as I have an almost pavlovian response to my arse approaching the green stuff as in the past its just been the deceitful layer of concealer to the dank brown muck underneath. Even if I manage to plop down there a whole new set of tricks must be brought into play - tuck the legs beneath my frame (pins and needles city) or cross the legs (to ward away fairy nymphs and 16 year old spides) - I might just lean against a tree and nervously fiddle with the USB stick in my (wool) jacket pocket - grass stains are a concern of course and what time does the park generally start at?
It even gets tricky identifying women you used to know in this weather, it's like all the gray ashen faced girls you were pals with were shipped off over night by the council (That's why they've been charging us 50 quid for dropping fag ends everywhere) and we just imported half the cast of a Will Smith video.
So if you see me bobbing up and down doing squat thrusts over a patch of daisys down in Botanic Gardens over the coming weeks be sure to approach me slowly from a 45 degree angle (like the Horse Whisperer) - take my hand in yours, coo soothing sentiments into my ear and slowly remove my woollen shirt, tie and trousers before bringing my bare bottom to rest on scorching Terra Firma.
P.S Here, I'm still having trouble uploading pictures because of my shitty internet - which is crap for an illustrated blog really - I'll try and fix this soon, not that its a big issue for you or anything. Don't be worrying.