The Sun is Nicole Kidman

The sun has been shining on this Fair Isle and is making fools of us all.

The people of Great Britain owe their only redeeming feature to bad weather: namely, their recognition that life is a repulsive struggle interspersed with moments of tragedy.

Driven indoors by grey skies and the everlasting Why? they watch terrifying documentaries or write complaints letters to John Lewis.

They make up sick jokes and think of sarcastic things to say to the next person who tries to be friendly.

They prepare bile for the in-laws.

But the moment a streak of sun peeps through, that goes out the window and they think they have a shot at happiness.

Out come the cheap sunglasses and primary colour shorts faster than you can flush a packet of St-John’s Wort down the toilet.

Off come the car roof-tops, on slams the Fresh Bloody Prince singing ‘Summertime’ and it’s all softball in the park and fizzy drinks.

We become a Gap ad.

The sun is a great big ball of energy. It’s on the look-out to zap any competition.

So although people think they do more in the Summer (as the nights are longer and they are skinnier) they are, in fact, lazier than ever.

Sure, they get out and about loafing around on grass, rustling newspapers and looking daft outside Riverside pubs.

Yes, they are skinnier because even the most defiant of the large sisterhood don’t want to wear opaque tights down the lido and it’s hard to eat bread pudding when it’s 25 degrees.

But essentially the life-blood is being sucked out of their sweaty bodies, to be replaced with grinning stupidity.

Buying up festival tickets like it’s a privilege to stand in a field listening to studio-produced bands trying to warble out their hits through beer spittle.

Stoking up rusty garden grills; dusting down out-of-date peasant blouses; hysterically bundling into cars and charging down to Cornwall with nasty picnic blankets.

So hear this, people:

Stay indoors! You don’t belong out there. The sun is not your friend.

It is an A-list celebrity at your barbeque party.

It has turned up to laugh at you, intending to take the best you’ve got and then leave early.

It knows you are a wannabe, who can’t even look it in the eye.

Stand in its glow and you will look red and bloated.

It only likes Australians.

The sun is Nicole Kidman.


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