Things we’re really thinking when we’re sitting in the sun:
Hi body! Hello arms, legs, parts of flesh vacuum-packed in October, their seals broken in June to be wiped down and laid out flat in a city park through one long lunch hour. Hello white puckered thigh, hello toes, hello… hang on who the hell are you and what are you doing in my vest?
I really fancy reading a “novel”. Mmm, like a long hardback that spans centuries and continents and teaches me something about who we are and the point of love. Definitely. Definitely go and fetch it as soon as I’ve finished Grazia.
These smells, cut grass, lotion, the faint suggestion of marijuana smoke. Sports deodorants mingling kindly with a tender BO, and the we’re-all-in-it-together scent of flip-flopped feet. Ahh, humanity.
How long. How long do I have to stay here, on the bloody ground, prickling in the heat while all manner of spiders probably are crawling into my knickers, and my mascara is dribbling in dark paths down my cheeks. How long is long enough to show that, yeah, I appreciate “summer” etc, but shouldn’t we be heading back inside now? You can see it all through the window.
What nightmare of a person still has the Kill Bill ringtone?
I hate other people.
Does she realise I can see her entire arse and most of her left nipple? Does she… want me to see?
What should I be doing right now? What meetings should I be preparing for? Should I be using this time to learn Spanish? To sort out my receipts? To make up with my stepmum? Say my goodbyes to my granddad? He surely can’t have much time left. Oh God.
A curse on the inventor of the acoustic guitar. Man playing unplugged version of “Moves Like Jagger” with his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip, I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you.
Wasps wasps wasps wasps
Did I just flirt with… the sun itself?
Yeah, I’m going to text my ex.
What’s wrong with me that I don’t enjoy this more? What happened in my childhood that makes me yearn for rain? Is the goth gene dominant?
When did all these women exfoliate, depilate, tan and moisturise? Surely not this morning. How did they know it’d be hot this afternoon? Or are they always like that under their tights? Caramel-coloured, shins shiny as lakes? What would happen if all the ladies emailed each other in May and decided not to bother this year? With the shaving.
Look at us all, just being “humans“. Basking. In nature. We are all the same. I love us.
Where will I be next summer? Could this be the last time I’ll lie in the heat with her, with nowhere much to go, and nothing much to do except finish this drink and buy another? Next year will everything have changed?
I should be taking a photo. The real pleasure of summer comes from looking through phone pictures in late November.
A puddle of sweat in my trainer. The silent wrath of a fallen Solero, and equally furious partner, post argument over semi-barbecued meat. Summer. Is that all there is?
itsAwholeLOADofJD! 