In Which I Try and Incite a Riot

Seasonal Affective Disorder is a mood disorder that tends to make people miserable in the winter. I am unaffected by that, because I am a right thinking rational person. It's the summer that's a bugger. One of the most famous lines in literature is the opening line of 1984: "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." If I had written 1984, I would have opened it with "It was a bright cold day in April, and I was already getting sunburnt." You're reading the words of a man who can go from milk bottle to lobster thermidor in sixty seconds. Factor 50 Sun Cream might as well be called Factor What's The Point. I can get sunburnt through clouds.

I'm sunburnt and I know it.

Summer, then, is not my friend. And then there's the hay fever. When all manner of plants start to funspunk their guts out, and people's immune systems think that the resulting pollen is some sort of evil alien invader and must be scourged by sneezing and crying at it and feeling generally rotten for an encore. I am not the vainest person in the world, but I don't like the idea of meeting people appearing like some gibbering diseased wreck who looks like they've just had to make Sophie's Choice. But at least there's good summer food to fall back on, like barbecues. Except that because of the lack of sunny days, the British are amateurish barbecueists at best as they never have the chance to practice. The meat will be black on the outside and raw on the inside, and the only food that will be cooked properly is the salad. Ah, yes, the limp and boring darling of the summer foodstuffs. Not only is salad an affront to God (which is impressive because He doesn't exist), it also launched an unprovoked attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941.

A salad that shall live in infamy

You cannot cook a roast in the summer without the danger of dying of heatstroke. You can't bake an apple crumble. Summer food is crap. And let's assume you're really hot, so you go out of the kitchen. You're still too hot, so you take some clothes off. There's only so many times you can do that before you get to mount and frame the restraining order on the wall.

I have never been sunburnt in winter. I have never suffered from hay fever in winter. If I am too hot in winter, then I can put some more jumpers on until I am warm. There's no limit to the amount of time I can do that. Putting on loads of old jumpers won't ever get me a restraining order (though I might receive a caution from the fashion police). I have never had food poisoning in winter, nor have I ever thought to myself that I can't cook food because of the atmospheric conditions. Christmas happens in winter. The television is better in winter, because the stations realise the people are more likely to be indoors and they actually TRY to show good programmes and films. Winter is a treat because it makes all those idiots with fake tan look even more stupid. And (and this is a contentious one) the Winter Olympics wees on the Summer Olympics from a great height. I cannot judge the summer versus winter Paralympics right now for I have yet to watch the latter due to being a terrible person. But I'm a good enough person to know that winter is a far better season than summer. Every day we get closer to winter, I get happier. And stronger.The days are getting shorter, the nights are drawing in. So come on, fellow milk bottle toned people, come on you gingers and albinos and unite! Our time is coming...

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