sunshine bitch

They’ve been hibernating all winter, I know it, because I can tell you, I’ve not seen them until now. Not to talk about the weather, but it’s a fairly pivotal part of this bitter anecdote. Safe to say, summer has arrived, actually, in England it never arrives, it stops over. I digress. This week summer has stopped over and in London it has tempted out a different breed of female. I suspect that somewhere on the outskirts of the city there is to be found a hibernation camp, kitted out with spray tanning , hair salons and celery. Preparing hordes of  women, who never set foot on the street in winter for their grand debut.

They’re thin. Not just skinny types, but these perfectly slim mythical beasts who haunt my nightmares. I am by no means gargantuan, but this heat has made any form of public transport near deathly, the head and humidity swarming around you, while you resent the fact that other people on the underground need to breathe. Then Little Miss Immaculate hops on, all Carrie Bradshaw breezy in heeled shoes that your mother would have warned you, ‘could take someone’s eye out!’ She has clothes to die for, flitty summer dresses dance around her and you could be forgiven for thinking she has a personal assistant following her with an air conditioner. You of course are simply sporting the short-sleeved versions of your almost entirely black (heat attracting) work wardrobe, oh and a pair flip-flops.  

On a positive note, the lovely weather inevitably finds me and my entourage (of 1) in the beer gardens of our tiny town. These, unlike London attract an entirely different calibre of lady beast, with hair pulled tightly back for a face-lift effect and more than just a pair of legs on display. They don’t make an altogether pleasant change from the flawless exhibitions of the city, but at least I don’t feel like the one of the lesser cuts of creation.

Perhaps it’s time to reintroduce my stomach to the age old art of starvation and the masterful ways of the sit up? My legs could probably use a stretch, but they argue vehemently that they’re by far thinner than the rest of me and would like very much to be left alone. I’ve just read the small print, it turns out bitterness and cynicism were a package deal that came without a money back guarantee. The only way to suppress them is with a nice large glass of cabernet. Well if I must.