Thank God for rain. I want it to rain down on me like billyo today. The sky is a kaleidoscope of greys, the temperature is reassuringly cool and my wallet is taking a breather. The sun has become my bank account’s worst enemy, as well as my health’s.
During the past weekend, I have drunk more than I normally do in a month, smoked more cigarettes than Bez on a bender and spent money like an elephant has a piss – fast and furiously. A glimpse of sun and I am reaching for a £20 and spending all of my hard-earned wages on alcohol and sun cream (which is alarmingly expensive considering the authorities are always warning us to wear it even if we happen to pass an open window in our own house).
There’s a good reason why Britain is quite a wealthy country, current climate being ignored of course – we usually have shite weather. It is normally unpredicatble, forcing us to become generally more negative and less likely to organise outdoor events/drinks/parties. When the sun does come out, we emerge like fucked-up werewolves sending hand-written invites to skin cancer and drinking until we can barely remember where we lived.
I fell into this trap this past weekend. I indulged in much beer gardening (that’s getting watered without doing any weed work), sank the volume of the Thames in Bacardi and bitter shandies, and helped boost the London pub trade and economy itself.
It was quite nice really. HSBC clearly didn’t think so. So much so that I got a personal call from them, wondering why there was so much activity on my card. Clearly, they don’t analyse my binge-drinking trends very efficiently, as they would see this behaviour is quite common, especially in the summer months.
So now I am quite content to watch rivulets of rain meander down the office windows, to see the tree branches swaying like fat kids at a disco and to feel the cool breeze on my brow.
It is worrying then, that I have a holiday booked in a sunny climate. I may as well call some Sunderland-registered debt consolidation company now. I am screwed. Two weeks of scorching sun and I will be reaching for the pina coladas and forgetting about sensible things like savings and ISA accounts.
The only thing that will send these fears melting like my soon-to-be-in-hand ice cream is autumn. It’s not that far away. And neither is Christmas. There are literally months and months of shite weather to be had in Britain in the not-so-distant future, so HSBC and myself can quit skying our blood pressure. It’s okay. It’s Britain. It rains. Soon all this sun and spending will be just a distant memory… It’ll be more pissy and I’ll be less pissed.