It’s summer – and to think we spent around eight months waiting for this (or two years if you’re one of the people dissatisfied with what 2007 and 2008 had to offer).

Every year it comes in some form or another and every year we forget about the horrible baggage that comes with it; headaches, uncontrollable perspiration, sweat rashes, and of course – resentment towards those who are enjoying it, while you’re sat behind a desk piling paper and staring into an LCD screen. Probably.

Then come all the health warnings; hydrate, cover up your body… no – all of it! Apply factor 90 sunscreen… anything less? Well! You might as well be smearing dog semen on your arms! Stay out of the sun between the hours of 11 and 3, hydrate, don’t drink alcohol in the sun, don’t move too much in the sun, if you’re going to exert yourself at all in the sun make sure you’re hooked up to a water cooler intravenously or you’re almost certainly going to have an aneurism or a fit or something. Probably. HYDRATE!

But then why would you honestly want to do anything in this heat? Walk? Sweat. Jog? Double sweat. Tell a funny anecdote to colleagues and get a little excited at the punch line? Work shirt sweat.

Even in our sleep – our supposedly most inactive part of the day, we awake from it in puddles of our own perspiration – our blotchy, burnt faces sticking to the pillowcase, hair drenched, looking like Peter Doherty’s doppelganger.

We slog through every day of what we refer to as ‘a good summer’ damning and exclaiming at the heat, as if it were unprecedented – fanning ourselves with anything flat and homing in on any air conditioned environment within an eight-mile radius. Then come winter, we’re praying for its early return, insisting all is forgotten.

If these ridiculous, hellish heat waves have any real, enduring merit to them at all it’s one thing; pretty girls in summer dresses.

That’s it.

And power to all of you that fit that description – thank you for helping me through this terrible time. Long may your legs continue to shine and your skirts continue to flick in the occasional breeze.

P.S – if that last comment seems a little sexist, I’m sorry. But you know what? Its 24 degrees and I’m melting. I’ve lost the will to type. So there.