52 Days.

So. There are 52 weeks in a year. 52 white keys on a piano. 52 cards in a deck. And 52 days since we last had rain.

That’s right! 52 whole days and counting. And 52 days ago it wasn’t even proper rain, just a light drizzle for about 30 minutes. And I hate to sound so typically British, but man, when will this sunshine end! I’m not someone who sunbathes, or goes away on to hot holiday destinations, or enjoys wearing as little as possible to keep cool. I’m too pale, too self conscious and again too damn pale for this type of weather! The sun literally reflects off me. I burn within minutes, go an embarrassing shade of rouge, and then slowly fade back to the reflective paleness normally associated with ghosts and albinos. So no, this weather is defiantly not for me. It’s not my favourite. It’s not my friend. I much prefer cool days filled with chunky cardigans, blankets and maybe the odd scarf. You cannot beat a real wood burner. Urgh, perfect. But not this. And don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the sun shining and the long evenings and bright mornings, but I really can’t bare this damn heat!

And it’s not just me, you can actually see people walking the streets looking so drained, defeated, tired, and just generally uncomfortable and unhappy. It’s like being surrounded by extras from the walking dead. It’s really not great.

And yet, despite all these sunburnt zombies strolling the streets surrounded by crispy yellow straw that once resembled grass, there are still people taking out their dogs, on the hot tarmac, in the middle of the damn day. What the hell is wrong with people? Your dog will not die if it doesn’t get walked for a few days. Wait until it’s cool like in the early morning or later in the evening. Or just spend some time at home with them, playing and keeping them occupied. Seriously. You can see these poor dogs looking so uncomfortable and distressed, almost tap dancing to try and avoid holding their paws on the pavement for any amount of time. There are still people go drag their dogs down the street, or tie them up down town, or even lock them in the fucking car while they go do the shopping or run a few errands. These people. These are the ones I would happily lock in a car without water and just a slither of a gap in the window. Let them experience the wonderful feeling of slowly cooking inside a glass oven in the middle of the day. And that’s not me being cruel, because I left one of the windows open, right? Alternatively, let’s tie these people up outside shops without shoes on and let them experience the heavenly heat rain down on them without being able to move into the shade or take off their lovely, thick fur coat. Hey, if people are putting their dogs through this, maybe they should endure it too.

But anyway. Back to the 52 days of sun without the fun. I find myself hoping and praying for rain and thunder. I’m thinking of the poor plants. And the wildlife. And the Me. Please just send us something to break this air up and give us a little bit of relief. Because I know for me, I am really struggling more and more each day. My energy levels are at an all time low. My motivations gone. Im undeniably uncomfortable and fed up.

So. 52 days. 52 days! Please oh please don’t make it 53. 54. 55. Please god not 56. 57. 58. Just let it rain. Please God just send us some rain. I promise you I won’t complain about it. I really promise I won’t..

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