I wish this shit weather was a wet dream

Midweek Sport - - FRONT PAGE -

MY trousers are soak­ing, my six-mon­thold boots leak, and my shoul­ders are drenched de­spite hav­ing trudged to work in a rain­coat like my 12-year-old self was forced to do as a jug-eared school­boy.

(Yes, I know. I am still jug eared. But they’re now re­fined jug ears.)

We like to joke about our na­tional ob­ses­sion with all things weather, but re­ally, this year, the Gods are tak­ing the ab­so­lute f***ing PISS.

On Mon­day there were parts of Blighty that had a month’s rain­fall in just a day. Need­less to say, I was in one of those parts. Step­ping out­side was like a bucket of cold wa­ter chucked over me.


I nearly drowned the dog merely by walk­ing the f***ing thing and I spent last night lis­ten­ing to the plink-plink of wa­ter drip­ping through the bath­room light fit­ting into a saucepan on the floor be­low.

Sum­mer didn’t hap­pen – not un­less you were within spit­ting dis­tance of the Olympic sta­dium, any­way.

The rest of the coun­try shiv­ered and moaned and waited for a warmish day that never came.

If I was forced – at gun­point – to find a pos­i­tive for the weather it would be to grudg­ingly ad­mit that it’s been nice to go a year with­out any frig­ging wasps for once.

And the fact that the al­ways- on- hol­i­day teach­ing bri­gade had their six weeks of do­ing noth­ing ruth­lessly f***ed over by the rain was pretty good, too.

But aside from those small bonuses, Mr Weather God Jupiter, I think we can agree that this year you’ve been an ab­so­lute c***.

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