I don’t know why I’m bothering to write this, everyone knows why British summers suck balls. Oh… actually, I do know why I’m writing this – because I want to vent my spleen at the world. I need to unload my decades of crushing disappointment onto the internet.

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Anyone who has lived in this country for any more than a couple of years knows that “British summer” is an oxymoron. There is no such thing. That’s part of the problem; each year, we sit there waiting patiently to be bathed in a couple of month’s worth of magnificent light when, in reality, the British climate has never really bothered to give any of us a proper summer.

Partly due to our distance from the equator and partly because we’re a shitty rock of an island, we can’t really expect to get good weather, but for some reason, we still do. We are all knobs.

I’m sure plenty of you sat at home now are saying something along the lines of “what a winging penis, if he hates it so much, why doesn’t he leave the goddamn country and live in Lebanon or some shit?”

Fair point, but, as much as I would love to fly south for the rest of my life, I am bound here by friends and family etc. And, I’m not sure if my criminal record would allow me to live anywhere else. I am “less than desirable” according to some.

Any how, for no other reason than I am currently fucking fuming with the current situation considering it’s June, here’s why the British “summer” sucks:

1) The Weather Obviously

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This has to be at the top of the list, I mean, what gives? I know I said just now that we never get any good weather, but I’m sure we had longer, hotter summers when I was a kid. Or, maybe my mum just distracted me with fast food and Transformers when it was rainy out. I dunno.

Recently, people have been talking a lot about an “Indian summer.” Apparently that’s when we get a delayed scorcher that arrives in September/October. I think that maybe happened one year (in the last hundred), but now we think it’s going to happen every time.

All this talk of an Indian summer actually extends our misery. Now, rather than giving up hope of a decent summer in August, we hold out our hopes until mid-October, when they are unceremoniously dashed to pieces by hail.

On the other side of the coin, sometimes we get a beautiful few days in May, like we did this year. That twists the knife, too. We get all jazzed up thinking we’re going to get a two month summer like we deserve, and then BANG it’s back to pissy, grey, gristly rain with icy fog and plenty of cats and dogs.

Fuck you weather.

2) The Beach Bod Pressure

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Despite the weather preventing us from getting our kit off, most of us want to slim down and buff up for the warmer months.

Perhaps we are planning on escaping and spending a couple of weeks in a disappointingly bland hotel complex in sunnier climes, or maybe we just reckon there might 20 seconds of sun that will allow us to unleash the guns momentarily.

This additional pressure to look slightly less shit is completely unnecessary. No, I’m not happy with the way I look, but I can tell you for free, I will never get any slimmer. Sometimes I exercise a bit, sometimes I cut down on my burger/cake intake, but the changes are miniscule. I have a default beer belly and jiggly jowls.

There is nothing I can do about this, and this arsehole Mr. Summer shouts from a couple of months away “OI! You need to feel worse about yourself, what if you need to get your tits out by the pool? Come on your loser – beauty might be skin deep, but people will puke when they catch a glimpse of your glimmering white blubber.

Go fuck yourself, Mr. Summer.

3) That Summer Outfit

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Quick! Our 30 minutes of summer has arrived, buy some shorts! You dash out to the shop, buy some shorts, get them home, they don’t fit properly, you look like a muppet, and it’s started to rain again.

I’ve given up. My summer wardrobe consists of some cut off jeans and an ironic Hawaiian shirt. That’ll do. Don’t be fooled by the adverts telling you that you’ll need a new wardrobe, they’re bullshitting you. You don’t need to buy squat. Even if you go on holiday, they won’t let you out of the complex, so you’ll only need your trunks.

And how about sunglasses? Have you ever managed to keep a pair for more than 30 seconds before losing or breaking them? Of course you haven’t, it’s not possible. They’re manufactured out of flimsy plastic for about 10p in China, then sold on to mugs like us for a tenner, and we don’t even need them.

Yeah, people that wear sunglasses in the club are knobs, but at least they’re getting some use out of them.

4) Ironic Sunburn

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Oh the fucking irony. The tepid sun strokes your face for a millisecond and, all of a sudden, you’re twitching and itching, your forehead has the look and shine of a vine-ripened tomato. Your shoulders resemble a baboon’s arse and your back has turned into the contents of a packet of Walkers.

Sunburn? In Britain? Completely unfair. In fact, the only real solace of being a Brit in the summertime is laughing at people that got microwaved in the freakish five minutes we call summer.

5) ”Summer Music”

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Another facet of the great British summertime is a dirge of shit pop songs that aim to get us in the mood for the wonderful festivities that summer has to offer.

These pop wankers send us videos of themselves cruising around in an open top car in LA, miming to a hugely overrated hip-pop track. There are women in bikinis waving to the rappers and muscle-bound ‘roid freaks “chilling” in the jacuzzi.

And the worst thing is – we lap that shit up, even though it has literally nothing to do with our experience of summer. Maybe I’m missing the point, but if we were to film a similar, but more honest, version of that video it would be quite, quite different.

There’d be puke on the windscreen, seagull shit all over the upholstery, a clinically obese pedophile jacking off from behind some net curtains and eight chavs hassling a couple of goth kids who are the only people dressed appropriately for the British summer.

Like I said at the top, yes, I do want to leave this country. But, no, I can’t, so you will just have to deal with my moaning. Sorry about that (I’m not at all sorry).