Bryony Gordon
Have you got summer madness syndrome?
t’s summer! I know this seems like an obvious thing to say, given that it is August, but I believe the last time we actually had a really hot August, Jim Callaghan was prime minister and the internet had yet to be invented, so allow me this opening gambit.
The point is, I am writing this column with nothing but a pair of knickers and a sweat on (I’m working from home, so it’s OK). It’s been hotter than Hell’s pepper patch out there this week, and that’s before any of us had to squat sweltering on the floor of a train vestibule because the great unwashed had taken up so much space there was no room for us to sit with our spouse, or our team of special advisers come to that.
And this seasonably good weather, combined with a hugely successful Olympic summer that culminated in scores of British athletes stepping off the plane from Rio, gold medals glinting into the boiling Heathrow sun, has led to the country suffering from collective summer madness.
We are living by “summer rules”. We have, if you like, turned Brazilian – having stayed up every night for two and a bit weeks to watch people cycle in circles and swirl round pommel horses, we are now on Rio time and it’s like every day is carnival. Don’t believe me? Then check out the symptoms of Summer Madness Syndrome (SMS), which can come on quickly and seemingly without any warning.
During the early stages of SMS, sufferers will start to shun water and soft drinks, substituting them with either rosé wine or some form of Pimm’s. This is because SMS cruelly tricks the sufferer into believing that they are on holiday in the south of France, rather than in their back garden with an important meeting to go to first thing in the morning.
Sure-fire signs someone is beginning to experience SMS include: “Why don’t we skip dinner and just eat olives and cornichons?”. This is a clear warning that you, your friend or a relative has come down with SMS. See, too, more subtle clues, such as “shall we invite the neighbours round for a barbecue?” (on a Wednesday) and “I think we should definitely spend £400 on a Dyson fan” (even though it will be September next week).
As SMS becomes more advanced, some sufferers start smoking slim menthol cigarettes, despite not having smoked for 15 years. Be warned: it is
almost always slim menthol cigarettes, because they hardly count as proper cigarettes, right?
Some people with SMS will start dressing as if they are on holiday in the office. Men might wear short-sleeved shirts and linen suits, as if perhaps they think they are starring in their own version of Brideshead Revisited. Women might fool you by slipping into a pair of heels shortly before arriving at work, but look for the tell-tale “city flip-flop mark” (a V-shape of grime and dirt) for proof of SMS.
In the most serious stages, sufferers start to appear lethargic, confused and somewhat woozy. Others may present with more concerning symptoms, namely the constant repetition of phrases such as “We’re not built for this weather”, “It’s very close, isn’t it?” and “What I’d do for a bit of rain”. Confusingly, when it does eventually rain, SMS sufferers will also moan about that and miss the time that they stood on the side of a busy road with colleagues they barely knew after work, drinking the aforementioned rosé and smoking said menthol cigarettes.
If you or anyone close to you appears to be exhibiting any of the above behaviours, the best thing to do is stay calm and stay indoors. Do not under any circumstances be tempted to venture into the garden. Be sure not to approach supermarkets, off-licences or public houses where alcoholic drinks can be consumed on the premises. Avoid daylight, shorts, and swimming costumes. Keep suncream and a bottle of cold water on you at all times in case these things are impossible to avoid. Book in for a sober September. Do not be alarmed. The nights are already getting darker. Winter is coming.
SMS sufferers will shun water and soft drinks, substituting them with rosé wine