By the law of averages, we’re due an absolute bobby-dazzling summer.
We’ve been short-changed by God or the Universe, with two pathetic summers that have left us all scratching our heads wondering if we’ll ever feel the warmth of the sun on our faces again.
As any genuine English person should do, as soon as the sun made its first true appearance of 2013, I released the shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops from their incarceration.
I sat with a friend talking, revelling in this glorious natural warmth.
People walked past without gloves on and some even managed to conjure a Vitamin D-inspired smile – pure and simple bliss.
I say bliss, but it was more like bliss-tered.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun that I’d forgotten that it burns at 10 million degrees on its surface and that if you have the complexion of skimmed milk it’s going to roast you.
I know that I’m not the only person who’s had to resort to bathing in aloe vera this week. But that’s not really much comfort.
Imagine a bald man, who has placed his own face on a gas barbecue, slowly bringing the lid down so only one side is truly grilled, but the whole nut is broiled.
My neck, according to a Dulux colour-chart, is Burning Hell Fury red.
Meanwhile my arms resemble the legs of a flamingo that has water retention issues.
On Wednesday morning I was so embarrassed by my seasonal misjudgment, I refused to take my daughter to school.
I was afraid that I’d be derided at the school gates or, worse still, that I’d hear distant whispers of ‘weeee…look at that, there’s actual steam oozing from his tear ducts’.
Needless to say, I’ve scoured the house looking for the SPF 50 and I’m back to the old routine of slip, slop, slapping on the protection.
In the meantime, if you’re interested in saving money on your energy bills this weekend, please feel free to pop round and prepare a batch of extra crispy bacon on my bonce.