Summer in the City

We seem to have reached that amazing part of summer that confounds tourists from around the world. The warm spell! Tourists seem to maintain the illusion that London is wet and foggy and that the British are all uptight and polite. If only the various deprived Rookeries of London were still present, we could just direct them there and then a day later buy their clothes and gold fillings in the pawnshops. Seriously though summer is upon us in that brain baking way that we experience most years.

There are some unfortunate reactions to this type of weather, however.

So far the builders outside my office window have disrobed to a semi-decent level reminding me again of the downside of fried food. This isn’t a diet coke break but more of a Chocolate Sundae garnished with whipped cream, sugar lumps and chips. In contrast are (and I hate to use this phrase) the Chavs who look rather scarily malnourished with a skin tone normally found on insects in underground ecosystems. I really have a problem with heroin chic and cannot understand the attraction and in some cases, their ability to walk on legs that thin. It’s not even that they’re slim, they don’t seem to have any muscles. I am rather horrified by the concept of people in their 30’s and 40’s emulating this too. I think I see the future for Mr Howard and his replacement in them. The new Sun readers, too young to remember the intelligence insulting Party Political Broadcasts from the last two elections, who will believe that the bigoted crap reflects their views.
Julie Birchill loves them apparently. I think it may be that their standards are so low that she might get a date.