In one particular way, I am a typical Englishman. I hate the weather.

In winter, it’s too rainy and God help me when it dares to snow. When the fluffy white stuff drifts down from the clouds, it’s time to hibernate, but at least when it’s cold then you can do something about it and put more clothes on.

And in summer, a heatwave begins much earlier than for the normal person, and whilst this current spell of weather can’t really be described as such (cue plenty of Italians and Spaniards, etc., walking around in duffel coats and bobble hats as it’s so darn cold), it’s knocking me out for the count. Weekend days are currently composed of hiding in the flat and finding any kind of excuse to not go out of the front door. There is always a fan on, permanently blasting down my left ear as I feel like I boil the second it moves away (so it’s never on swivel as a result), but recently all it feels like it’s doing is to shift warm air around instead of cooling the suffering human it’s serving. I’m sitting on an armchair covered in towels, and energy levels, never really very high in the first place, and really very low.

During this weekend just ended, it was a case of watching sport incessantly (nothing changes there), waiting for someone to turn the heating off. Sunday was especially taxing as the Spain-Russia match at the FIFA World Cup was tedious, I had trouble sleeping the previous night and there was a massive effort to remain awake during a game that was dominated by Spain who would have won by miles if the Laws of the Game allowed for points scoring via sideways passing. Their tactics can be wonderful when done right, but quite often it turns out that the only way they can make a breakthrough is if the opposition has got so bored that they’ve gone back into the dressing room to play with an Xbox… Didn’t work with this Russian defence.

Looking at the blue sky through my office window in Square-town, otherwise known as Croydon (I cannot see a single building from this view that is anywhere near aesthetically pleasing), there is not a cloud. I can’t even say that I wandered lonely as a cloud, as even the clouds have gone away…

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